


Surviving Heir to Erebor

by arwens_light



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, F/M, King and Queen, Loving Marriage, Sexual Content, i'm in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arwens_light/pseuds/arwens_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought he had left this world behind, only to find that it wasn't quite done with him yet. Fíli survives the Battle of the Five Armies and must face the daunting future as the surviving heir of the Line of Durin to the kingdom of Erebor, all while coping with the lose of his uncle and his beloved brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing; all of this wonderful Middle Earth, its creatures and creations, belong to the Professor, the amazing J.R.R. Tolkien.

Pain. Burning, searing pain. And after the pain, darkness and cold. 

It was over. He knew it. The darkness was complete. 

And yet he hadn't moved onto Mahal in the Halls of Mandos... so was this it? Was darkness how it all ended? Was this how he was to spend the rest of his eternity?

He first thought he was in hell when the searing pain began to creep back in. All he felt was darkness and pain. It started from the center of his chest and the white hot agony crawled up to his shoulders and down his arms, prickling at his fingertips, descended down his stomach and deep into his bones, making his legs ache. His head felt as if it had been slammed into a block of stone, the pain echoing in his ears until he wanted to scream. 

He had always thought that when he passed from this middle earth it would be in his old age, after he had lived a long and fulfilling life. He had thought that wherever life took him, his brother would forever follow, always be at his side. But now, now in this darkness, he was all alone. Now he could see how that was just the foolish dreams of youth. 

So he let the pain and darkness over take him, let himself sink into the oblivion. 

All remained for a long time, the darkness and pain his constant companion. 

But then something cool touched his forehead. It sent an icy shiver down his spine, moving from his head down to his wrist and then the cold touched his throat. For a split second, he panicked that it would draw tight and choke him, but then he shook off the thought as folly. Why should he fear death if he was already dead?

“Fíli…”

In his mind, he could almost hear his mother calling out to him, comforting him after his father had died.

“Fíli…”

It was as if he was a dwarfling again, playing out in the meadow behind their village with his little brother, their uncle calling for them to come back home for dinner. 

“Fíli…”

Balin calling his attention back to the lessons in front of him.

“Fíli…”

Dwalin barking instructions as he practiced with his knives in the back of his uncle's smithy. 

“Fíli…”

Kíli running toward him, his face alight with joy at the new bow he had been given. 

“Fíli…”

But it wasn't truly any of those voices. Those were only echoes, distant memories calling to him. 

The voice echoed his name again, and he felt the coolness return to his forehead. 

He finally tried to answer, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he found that his voice was gone.

A pressure on his wrist intensified for a brief moment and then faded. Once again, he was left to endure the pain alone in the darkness. He could have wept at the utter emptiness he felt. 

After what felt like a long while, there was a low rumble that sounded beside him and he felt a new sensation touch his wrist. It felt like fingers on his pulse – thick fingers, worn and rough with callouses. The rumble beside him turn into a murmur of voices. 

As the fog concealing the voices began to lift, the rest of Fíli’s world began to sharpen. His lungs rattled and ached, each breath sending a stabbing pain through his chest and setting his world on fire. A moan of pain cut through his parched throat.

Cool fingers softly stroked over his forehead, wiping away the thin layer of sweat that had gathered there. The fingers trailed down his temple, brushing a loose strand of hair aside. 

“Fíli?” a young voice whispered. There was something slightly familiar with the voice, only he couldn't quite place it. It was soft, but strong and comforting.

Even though Fíli’s insides were protesting at any movement and his head threatened to split in two, he drew in as deep a breath as he could manage and opened his eyes. 

The light was blinding at first. Fíli immediately regretted his decision, snapping his eyes shut tight again and grimacing. 

The person beside him echoed his name again and slender fingers gently slid around his hand. 

With another painful, shaky breath, Fíli slowly rotated his head toward the voice and looked up through half-veiled eyes. 

Stormy blue eyes gazed down into his, wide and full of something close to fear. 

“Balin, Oin! Come quickly,” she called as she continued to stare at him. “He… he’s awake!”

As Fíli gazed up at Bard’s eldest daughter, his vision began to blur and fade, the darkness creeping back in until it pulled him back under.


	2. Chapter 2

When Fíli awoke, he found that he was not alone. To his left, Óin and Ori were sitting next to the entrance of the tent, hunched over a game board. On his right, Balin sat pouring over some parchments, a stack of books and quills beside him. 

Fíli tried to sit up, but was halted by a fire that ripped through his chest. Balin noticed the slight movement and immediately rose, brushing his papers aside. 

Balin shushed him, gently pushing him back down. “Hurun, Khuzsh.” 

Fíli gratefully sunk back onto his cot. He attempted to speak, but he was once again cut off by the dryness of his throat and a rough rasp was all that escaped his parched lips.

“Ori, fetch some water, will you?” 

Ori looked up from the game, glancing between Balin and Fíli. When he saw Fíli gazing back at him, he instantly hopped up from his stool, sending it tumbling to the ground. 

“Oh, Fíli,” Ori said, dropping to his knees beside him. Tears brimmed at his eyes as he clutched Fíli’s hand tightly in his own. “Oh, Fíli …” A sob escaped Ori’s lips and tears began to run down his cheeks. 

“Ori,” Balin beckoned calmly. “The water.”

“Yes, yes,” Ori murmured, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Water, yes, water…” Ori gave Fíli’s hand one last squeeze before hurrying away.

“Óin, will you please find Gandalf?” Balin requested, settling beside Fíli. Balin glanced up at the older dwarf, who was still standing beside him, smiling sadly down at Fíli. Balin cleared his throat and gently gripped Oin’s elbow. “ÓIN, my old friend,” Balin called loudly, finally catching his attention. “Gandalf, please go find GANDALF.” 

Óin nodded and then departed, leaning heavily on a walking staff. 

The darkness was starting to settle back upon Fíli when Balin turned back to him. 

“Fíli,” Balin said softly, placing a kind hand upon his brow. “Fíli, I know that you are tired, but I must tell you something.”

Fíli blinked heavily and fought to keep his focus on his old teacher. The pain had begun to burn in his chest again. 

“Fíli,” Balin began again, his voice beginning to tremble. “My dear boy… I’m not sure… this is difficult to say…” Balin ran a tired hand across his face, attempting to compose himself. 

Fíli frowned in confusion, but gathered his strength and found Balin’s gloved hand. 

Balin choked back a sob and squeezed Fíli’s hand in return. “Fíli …your unc - Thorin…” Balin shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. 

His eyes burned and he struggled to breath. “No,” he whispered. 

Balin dipped his head, his long white beard brushing Fíli’s shoulder. “He fell in battle. But… there is more, my prince.”

The golden haired dwarf shook his head. No more… what could be worse than this?

Fíli gazed up at the yellow silk canopy, blinking back hot tears. Huh. So he was in an elfish structure. Flowing embroidered golden vines swirled and interwoven together, though they were perceived through the blur of tears. The fabric was elegantly draped against wooden tent poles which gracefully fell to the earthen floor. Elves… bloody elves… As he stared at the damp ground, a dark thought fell upon Fíli’s mind. Glancing around, he saw that he was the only one recovering in this tent. There was no second cot, no evidence of another person residing in this small place. No sign of…

“Kíli,” he managed to croak. My brother, where is my brother? Fíli raised desperate eyes to Balin. I belong with my brother… Kíli, where is he?

Balin could not meet Fíli’s gaze. Tears dripped off the older dwarf’s large nose and landed on Fíli’s bare shoulder. 

“I am so sorry, lad,” Balin whispered.

Fíli felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. No, surely he did not mean … No, it was impossible. Kíli, who was so young and full of life… and reckless, impulsive… 

“No…no,” Fíli cried, painful sobs threatening to rip his chest in two. A feral sound rose from the young prince’s lips, haunting even to his own ears. But his grief was almost too much to bear. “No, not Kíli… not my brother. No…”

Fíli wasn’t sure how long he cried. All he knew is that when the pain finally overwhelmed him again, Balin was there and when he reemerged from the darkness sometime later, Balin was still by his side.   
He refused drink and food out of grief, wishing himself dead. When he refused to consume the herbal remedy that Óin had prepared for him, Dwalin had to be summoned to hold him down while Óin and Balin forced it down his throat. Balin instructed the members of their company to take shifts watching him, lest he awake and do harm to himself. 

He was told that Thorin and Kíli’s bodies had been prepared and would be entombed inside the Mountain. The dwarrows would eventually hold a memorial for their fallen brothers, but that date was being postponed until Fíli’s mother, Dís, arrived. Honestly, Fíli tried not to think on that.

Gandalf and Bilbo visited his tent once, offering words of sympathy of his loses and wishes for his recovery. Fíli appreciated the sentiments offered, but had wished they would leave him alone to his grieving. Dáin Ironfoot stopped to see him one evening, speaking of the efforts that were already under way to repair Erebor’s grand entrance and clear passages of rubble and debris. He only half listened, out of courtesy, if nothing else.

He tolerated the Company’s presence, but few others. 

His days began to fall into a rhythm. Balin would force him to take his meals which consisted of rich broths that Bombur had prepared specifically for him. Dawlin stood by while Fíli reluctantly took his medicine as Óin supervised. Nori helped him keep his muscles active, although simply sitting up was a monumental task in itself. Ori would sit with him when other duties called Balin away and would often read to him or attempt to get Fíli to play at his board game.

More than anything, Fíli wanted to get out of this blasted Elfish tent. All it did was remind him of that which he wished to forget. The gold reminded him of his uncle and the dragon sickness that had taken hold of him in the last few days of his life. Fíli shuttered at the memories of his brave, strong uncle, who had helped his mother raise her children since they were just dwarflings and set them upon their quest to retake their homeland, who had been reduced to a shadow of his former self as he endlessly wandered the halls of Erebor, muttering to himself as he counted his gold coin and searched for the Arkenstone. The delicate, sweeping designs etched into the silks drew thoughts of his brother and his infatuation with the Elfish captain. Kíli, his …dead brother. Fíli shook the thought from his mind, unable to dwell on it too long. If he did, he feared he would fall into such darkness that he would never be able to recover from. 

Fíli begged Balin to move him to Erebor, to Dale, anywhere else but this bloody tent. Balin had gazed down at him in pity and informed him that his wound was still in a delicate state and it would be unwise to move him just yet. But soon, very soon, he promised that they would take him back home. 

One morning, Fíli awoke to find himself alone, which was very unusual. There was a bit of commotion byond the tent walls and he assumed that whoever had been assigned to watch over him had gone outside to investigate. 

Fíli lay on his cot, staring up at the tent ceiling, examining the patterns for what felt like the hundredth time. However, soon his thoughts began to drift to Kíli and hot tears sprung to his eyes, blurring the canopy into a golden sky, which just served to turn his thoughts to his uncle. 

Fíli’s hands clenched into tights fists as he fought to control his emotions that threatened to bubble over and consume him. Letting out a deep breath, he decided he needed a change of scenery. Gripping the sides of his cot, he made to push himself up into a sitting position. 

A groan of pain escaped his lips as his chest severely protested the movement, having never attempted sitting without aid since sustaining his injury. His knuckles burned white with strain as he fought to hold himself up, refusing to give into his weakness. 

When he was about to collapse, the tent flap was pushed aside and a young woman entered, carrying a basket of fresh clothes and linens. Stormy blue eyes met his and she froze for a moment, her free hand still lifting the tent flap open. And then, all at once, she had dropped her woven basket and rushed to his side, sliding a slender arm beneath his broad back. 

Fíli gratefully sank into her arms, embarrassed at his lack of strength. “Thank you,” he murmured as she helped prop him up on a cushion. 

She nodded in reply, a blush creeping up her pale cheeks, and turned to retrieve her fallen basket. 

Fíli tilted his head, gazing after her in confusion. She bent and carefully folded the linens neatly back into her basket before turning back to him, her eyes still on the ground. 

“You should be more careful, Master Dwarf,” she said, moving to place her basket on the table which Balin used as his desk. “You’re still recovering, you wouldn’t want to reinjure yourself.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he continued to watch her set about her task, refolding and placing each item on the table. 

She turned back to him, tucking a loose strand of wavy dark blonde hair behind her ear before raising her eyes to meet his once more. 

He smiled kindly at her and then gestured toward the entrance. “What is going on out there?” He asked. 

Bard’s daughter glanced away for a moment before return her gaze to him. “They’re tearing down the last of the tents and making arrangements to move the injured back home...” She glanced down at his chest and then turned away, back to the table. 

Fíli looked down and realized that his chest was bare, save for the bandage wrapped around his middle. He subtly pulled his thin blanket up over his stomach, feeling foolish. 

“Balin asked – I’ve brought you some new things, clothes, I mean,” Sigrid said, turning back to him with a pair of trousers and a linen shirt in her hands. “The others, I had thought – thought they might be with you.” She stared at him, the blush deepening in her cheeks. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. She was clearly uncomfortable and Fíli wasn’t sure what to do. He was quite naked under his blankets and he didn’t want to expose himself to Bard’s daughter, but there was no way he could dress himself at this point. 

“Thank you for the clothes,” he said, his voice sounding too rough. He cleared his throat again and was about to tell her to just leave the clothes when Ori stumbled into the tent. 

“Fíli, wonderful news!” the young dwarf exclaimed, hurrying to his side. “Balin says we are to move you to Erebor today - oh, you’re sitting up.” Ori blinked at him, his brow wrinkling in concern. 

Fíli nodded toward the woman standing a few feet away from him, the clothes still clutched in her hands. “Sigrid helped me,” he explained, daring a glance in her direction. 

Ori turned to Sigird and then smiled brightly at her. “Good morning.”

“I brought… these… for him. Balin asked me to… find him something…” she stammered, handing the clothes to Ori. 

He continued to grin up at her. “Thank you, miss.”

Sigrid nodded, glancing between Ori and Fíli. “I should be going,” she said softly. “I pray you recover quickly, Master Dwarf, and…” Her eyes lingered on Fíli’s for a moment, her hand on the silken tent flap. He felt a very different kind of heat spread through his chest. “And, I am truly sorry about your brother and uncle.”

Fíli stared at her, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Finally, she broke away and disappeared into the sunlight. 

For a moment, he continued to gaze after her, until he realized Ori was speaking to him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that.”

“She’s taken them in – the hems. These should fit quite nicely,” Ori repeated, holding up the trousers. “Come on, up you get,” he instructed, helping Fíli sit forward and swing his legs over the side of the cot. 

A cold sweat broke out on Fíli’s brow at the effort, but he was glad to find that the pain was somewhat bearable now. He gritted his teeth as he leaned heavily on Ori, who helped him into the clothes. Once dressed, he fell back onto his pillow, thankful it was over, and feeling truly exhausted. 

“Shall I read to you while we wait for the others to come get you?” Ori asked, settling down in the chair beside Fíli. 

He nodded absent mindedly, for once, his mind drawn away from his damaged body and broken soul.


	3. Chapter 3

The short trip from the battle field beneath Dale back into the halls of Erebor was excruciating. Fíli could feel every dip, every bump went straight into his aching chest as Dwalin and Nori carried him on a thick canvas stretcher. By the time they reached the entrance to Erebor, Fíli was certain that his stitches had opened. He had never been so grateful to lay back down on a bed in his life. 

Óin repaired a stitch or two that had ruptured and then concocted a strong sleeping draft to take with his medicine. Fíli drifted into a dreamless sleep for which he was very thankful.

When he awoke the next day, he almost wept tears of joy at the carven stone above his head. He never wanted to see golden Elfish silks again. The green and gray marble was freckled with shimmering specks of gold and strong dwarrow markings adorned the walls. 

Balin and Ori were once again at his side, but this time, instead of a cot, Fíli was laid up in a large bed with a firm mattress and a soft goose-down comforter. Balin was sitting in an elegantly carved wooden chain, his work set out before him at a large oak writing desk, complete with pigeon holes full of various dwarrow trinkets, ink pots and fresh parchment, and a whole collection of leather-bound volumes. Ori sat beside Balin, copying a letter, his own set of quills and inks at the ready. 

Fíli had to smile as he observed them, diligently working together, two master scribes already heavy with the political burdens of the Mountain upon their shoulders. 

He shifted back on his pillow so that he was almost sitting up. He released a deep breath, trying to keep the pain in his chest at bay. 

Balin glanced over at Fíli and grinned. “Good morning, lad. Ori, would you find Óin and ask him for some Valerion root for Fíli’s pain? Also, run down to the kitchens and ask them to bring up some breakfast and tea.”

Ori nodded, and throwing a smile to Fíli, slipped out of door to run his errands. 

Balin rose from his desk and placed a warm hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “How do you feel this morning?”

Fíli glanced down at his chest, which looked to have been redressed after Óin had fixed his stitches. Several deep bruises had begun to fade to an ugly yellowish green and minor cuts were scabbed and healing nicely. “There is still pain if I move too much, but it’s getting better.”

Balin gently applied pressure to several areas on Fíli’s torso, noting any indications of pain, and then took his pulse, applying two fingers to Fíli’s neck under his jaw. The white-haired dwarf nodded in satisfaction before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“How are you feeling… otherwise?”

“You mean, how am I coping with the deaths of my uncle and brother?”

Balin grimaced, but nodded. 

Fíli sighed heavily. “I don’t know. It’s been… difficult.” He shook his head, running a hand along his beard. “I need to cut my beard,” he murmured absentmindedly. 

A sad laugh escaped Balin’s lips. “Oh, laddie, you’ve not much of a beard to begin with.”

His lips twitched in a small smile. “Yes, well, but all the same, I think I’ll keep with tradition and wear the expression of my grief. 

“Well, then. Shave you, we shall.”

Balin found a razor in the washroom and set about filling a washbasin with hot water. Dwalin was summoned to help move Fíli into a chair, which was a more ideal place for Balin to shave him. Balin sharpened the tool and then carefully drew the sharp edge of the razor along Fíli’s jaw, removing a layer of coarse golden hair. With each scrap of the blade, Fíli allowed his sorrow to spill forward. Tears slowly flowed down his cheeks and he struggled to keep his breathing in check. He felt a shaking hand take his, and glancing to his side, saw Dwalin kneeling beside him, tears in his own eyes. 

The sight of the old warrior beside him was enough to finally break him. Soft sobs shook Fíli’s soul. How was he to go on in this world without his brother at his side? How was he to face the challenges of this new kingdom without his uncle’s stern rule and direction, however misguided it may have been toward the end. 

Dwalin’s hand remained firmly in Fíli’s until Balin drew the last stroke of the razor down the prince’s neck. All that remained of Fíli’s facial hair was his braided mustache. 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Fíli drew a tentative hand along his smooth jaw. A hysterical laugh escaped his lips before becoming a cry of sorrow once more. Despite the pain in his chest, Fíli crumpled forward, his head cradled in his hands as he wept, his grief bleeding out of him. 

Fíli’s mother reached Erebor just over a fortnight after the battle’s end. Dis arrived in the early evening with a small host of dwarrow from the Blue Mountains at her side. Although Fíli’s recovery had proven to be going slowly, his wound had healed enough for him to make the short trip down to the grand entrance. 

Balin had dressed Fíli in a blue robe with silver toggles, royal colors similar to what his uncle would have worn. As his mother drew near, Fíli saw that she was clothed in a similar palette, her hood a deep, royal blue, which matched her smock underneath but was trimmed in a crimson red that had been of his father’s house. Her cloak was weather-stained and dirty, but her face was rosy and her blue eyes sparkled once they landed upon her eldest son’s face. 

“My son,” she said, taking his face between her hands and knocking her forehead lovingly to his. 

Tears welled up in Fíli’s eyes. “Mother,” he managed to whisper.

Dis kissed Fíli’s cheeks and ran a hand across his chin. “I know, I know,” she breathed, resting her forehead to his again. “Oh, my brave, brave Fíli… I have not seen your face so bare since you were a dwarfling.” Her lips trembled as she took a deep breath. “Shall we go see them?”

Dis nodded in greeting to Balin, who stood a few steps behind Fíli. The older dwarf stepped forward, offering his arm in support to Fíli, as they turned to follow the dwarrow-dame down into the depths of Erebor.   
They followed Dis much more slowly than expected, as Fíli had a hard time navigating the many stairs and eventually had to lean heavily upon both Balin and Glóin to descend the final staircase. 

Fíli found his mother in the large antechamber that surrounded the catacomb. She stood still, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, yet at Fíli drew close, he saw that tears hung in her beard like crystals. When she saw that Fíli was by her side, she slipped her arm into his and they entered the crypt together. 

Gandalf had performed a simple enchantment over the fallen of Durin’s line, which allowed for the tombs to remain open. 

Thorin lay in grand splendor, dressed in the finest royal robes, his grandfather’s crown upon his brow. 

Dis knelt before Thorin’s grave, the son of Thrain, son of Thror, her brother and her king, and kissed the marbled stone. Fíli bowed his head to his fallen uncle, silent tears gathering in his eyes. He could faintly hear Balin weeping in the antechamber. Dis ran a shaking hand over the cool white and silver marble, tracing the carved inscription that would identify Thorin until the end of ages. 

With a deep breath, his mother turned toward the second tomb and hesitantly stepped forward before collapsing against the side as she gazed down at the lifeless body of her youngest son. Her weeping echoed through the hall as she cried out. Kíli lay as if sleeping, donning clothes that reflected his link in lineage to Thorin, royal blue hung upon his chest with a black velvet cloak thrown upon his shoulder. Fíli leaned heavily on the marble, his vision blurring as he looked down at his little brother. His brother, whom he was supposed to protect against all harms. A sob sent a painful fire burning in his chest, but whether it was from his battle wound or his broken heart, Fíli could not say.

“Kíli,” Fíli whispered, running a finger down his brother’s cold temple, brushing his dark hair aside. Someone had washed and cleanly plated Kíli’s hair. Fíli’s chin quivered, knowing that in life, his brother could seldom manage to keep his braids smooth nor his hair untangled. Fíli twisted a braid between his fingers before placing a hand carefully on Kíli’s chest, understanding that both brothers had sustained a similar wound… only, he had survived and his brother had not. His lips trembled as he gently clutched the fabric of the tunic in his fist. “I am sorry, Kíli,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

Dis and her surviving son remained in the catacombs for the rest of the night, holding onto each other as they grieved for their lost kin. 

In the morning, a grand funeral was conducted and the different races gathered together, this time in peace, to pay their respects to the fallen King under the Mountain. 

The Elven King of Mirkwood, Thranduil, arrived with his son and a small host, although Fíli noticed that the captain of his guard was missing. Thranduil bowed silently to Dáin and Fíli, but knelt down on one need in front of Dis and presented her with the sword which Thorin had possessed for much of their journey, but had lost when the Elves had made them captives in Mirkwood. Orcist gleamed brightly as Dis carefully took the gift from the Elf-king. 

Fíli glanced at his mother, who nodded in encouragement, before stepping forward. “Thank you,” he said, drawing himself to his full height and attempting a bow, though it was still very painful. “We will not forget who fought alongside of us in battle. I-I am attempting to right some of - some of the wrongs done to others. I know what it is that you desire and requested from my uncle. As a gesture of goodwill and gratitude, I give to you the Giliath-mírë, in the hopes that we might put aside our differences and become amiable neighbors once more.” 

Fíli gestured to Balin, who softly called two dwarves forward. Cradled between their stout arms, was an ornate silver chest. They knelt before Thranduil with the chest raised and Balin opened the lid with a small silver key, presenting the gems of starlight to the Elven king. Dáin Ironfoot scowled openly at Thranduil as he stared down at the jewels in awe, running long, slender fingers over the precious stones. Fíli watched tight-lipped as he struggled to keep his own anger in check.

Tearing his eyes away from the chest, Thranduil bowed low before the last of Durin’s line. Rising, he almost smiled. “Then let us part, not as adversaries, but as equals.”

Fíli nodded and the two exchanged farewells. Dis placed a hand on her son’s shoulder and smiled sadly at him. “That was nobly done, my son.” She kissed his cheek before turning and reverently laying the sword on Thorin’s chest, adjusting his fingers so that they appeared to grip the hilt. 

They accepted condolences from an endless line of dwarves from the Glittering Caves and the Northern Misty Mountains, the Iron Hills and the Grey Mountains, from Belegost and their own Blue Mountains. 

One of the last to arrive were the men of Dale. Leading them was the former bargeman who had aided Thorin’s Company when they needed to cross the great lake of Esgaroth. The newly, and reluctantly crowned king of Dale bowed to the dwarves before him. Bard was clothed in an opulent, but worn leather burgundy coat with a thick bronze belt and bracers. A few members of his newly established court followed after him, most old, graying men, who looked down upon the dwarves with a suspicious and skeptical eye, but at the back of the little group, Fíli noticed Bard’s children, little Tilda carried in her sister’s arms as tears rolled down her young cheeks. Stormy blue eyes caught Fíli’s for a moment before quickly dropping to the stone floor. He wondered briefly if she was still embarrassed of their previous encounter. 

Upon drawing near, Bard hesitated for a moment, glancing between Fíli and Dáin, not quite sure who to address. Instead, Dis stepped forwards and bowed to Bard. “Master bowman, I understand that it was you who brought down the great serpent who for so long had stolen our home from us.”

Bard nodded and then bowed his head in return. “My good lady, I have come to return something of great value to you.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Bard pulled forth a small linen-wrap package. Kneeling before Thorin’s sister, he pulled away the fabric to reveal the Heart of the Mountain. 

Dis took a step back, staring down at the gemstone before her. After drawing a deep breath, she stepped forward again and retrieved the stone from Bard, carefully cradled it in her hands. “Thank you, sir,” she said thickly. “This stone has been the cause of much joy and sorrow to my family. I think it is time that it was returned to the mountain, where it belongs.” Turning, Dis carried the gleaming stone to her brother’s tomb and laid it upon his chest. Satisfied, she nodded and turned back to the former-bargeman. 

“You helped my kin when there were few who would do so,” she said, smiling up at Bard. “For that, you have my unfailing gratitude. However, I believe a deal was struck, and I intend to honor that agreement.” She extended her hand to Bard. “Come, and share in the wealth of the mountain.”

“Thank you, my lady, but I would only ask for enough to rebuild Dale.”

Dis pondered this for a moment before nodding solemnly. “There are not many that would refuse such a richly given gift…” she smiled sweetly at the man before her. “It would seem that true nobility runs through your veins, Bard, descendent of Girion. The Line of Durin will see that Dale is rebuilt to its former glory.”

Fíli watched his mother closely, admiring her ability handle such a heavy political situation with grace and dignity, although Dáin looked less than pleased with Dis’ actions. Fíli dreaded the discussion he knew that would follow soon after the period of mourning, on his duties to his people, on his place as the heir to Erebor. For now, he was content to watch and learn from his mother, knowing that all too soon, the weight of the mountain would rest upon his shoulders.


	4. Chapter 4

Fíli sat upon one of the southern-facing parapets, gazing out from the Lonely Mountain into the surrounding world. Dale lay to the right, the faint sound of stonemasons hard at work at their repairs echoing across the field. The great lake lay beside Dale in the distance and he could just make out the edges of the Mirkwood Forest through the fog rising off the lake. His eyes traveled across the wooden ruins that remained of the town on the lake, the sinking sun setting the waters ablaze in a strange glow, eerily similar to the dragon fire that had only recently been all too real. Turning his gaze from the icy waters and snowy shore, he looked up the rolling hills back to Dale. Soft lights began to appear on the hill top as the sun continued its descent.

He absentmindedly twirled a small knife between his fingers, the six inch steel blade flashing silver as it cut through the air, weaving unseen patterns. It had started out as a dexterity exercise at Dwalin’s suggestions, but had become almost like a nervous tick, the blade twirling.

A cold breeze blew in from the lake and Fíli closed his eyes, relishing the fresh air. He hadn’t realized how stale the air could become inside the mountain nor how much he missed an open sky above his head at night. He had spent too much of his life above ground, exploring the woods and fields, traveling across the Greenway, too long living in the world of men to feel truly at home underground. Although he would never admit it to another dwarf, the Mountain was making Fíli feel almost… trapped. Somehow, Fíli was sure that his brother would have understood.

Fíli drew another deep breath, feeling the tight, uncomfortable stretch of his scar. His chest wound, although healing slowly, was healing. He was now able to walk short distances on his own without assistance, although raising to a sitting position still could be painful and there were times when he exerted himself too much, which left him short of breath and aching.

He continued to twirl his knife, knowing that someone would come looking for him soon. Only, he wanted to be alone right now. No. That was a lie. What he truly wanted was for his cheeky little brother to be sitting beside him, throwing pebbles down the Mountain, cracking jokes and laughing loudly into the night. Fíli run a hand over his chest, grimacing in a pain that had nothing to do with his physical ailments. He feared this would be a wound that would never quite heal, no matter how much time passed.

+++

Winter slowly began to give way to spring, the mornings growing warmer while the nights still held a chill. The warm weather meant the people of Dale would soon be hosting a festival, to celebrate their return to the once ruined city and to the coming of spring, which brought with it hope and new life. Bard sent an invitation to the Mountain, inviting the dwarrow to join them for the upcoming festival. Dáin was wary of the offer, but Dis insisted that the two races must rebuild their relationship as it had once been and the only way to do that was to engage in civil gathers. Balin agreed, having resided in Erebor long before Smaug had ever ventured south.

“Once when Dwalin and I were lads, we snuck off to Dale to watch their Harvest Festival. Both dwarves and men occupied the city back then. I’d never seen so many pretty dwarrow-dames, dancing and feasting. Dwalin was asked to take a dame or two for a turn,” he said, winking at Fíli.

“Yes, I remember Mister Dwalin being quite the able dancer,” his mother remarked fondly as she repaired a small golden chain at her work table.

Fíli had to choke back a laugh at the thought of Dwalin dancing a jig, but could have sworn he saw the older dwarf blush, although it was hard to tell in the dim light.

“Will we go then?” Ori asked quietly from his place beside Fíli. “I think it would be lovely to go to the festival…”

Satisfied with her work, Dis put aside the chain and turned to Ori. “Yes, I think we shall. We will fellowship with the men of Dale and eat and drink and be quite merry. And there will, of course, be dancing – do you know any of the dances of men, Ori?”

Ori’s cheeks reddened and he shook his head. “I think Dori may know one or two, but I never learned.”

Fíli heard Nori snigger in the corner where he sat polishing some silver pieces.

“Oh, well that will not do!” Dis declared, raising swiftly to her feet. “The ones I remember may be old-fashioned now, but I’ll teach you a step or two! Come now, lad, on your feet!” Dis glanced around the room at their small gathering. “Why don’t you play us a tune?”

Fíli stared at his mother, unmoving. He hadn’t played his fiddle since the company had first arrived at Bilbo’s home in the Shire. It just wouldn’t feel right, playing without…

He was about to protest when Dwalin handed him a fiddle and threw him a hard look. Fíli scowled at the old warrior and reluctantly took the fiddle. It was a remarkable instrument of polished cherry wood with a horsehair bow, the handle inlaid with gold. Dwalin settled beside him with a viol and bow and Nori pulled his flute from his breast pocket.

Dis took Ori’s hand and led him to the middle of her sitting room. “We’ll start with something simple. How about ‘The Black Nag’?”

Dwalin struck up the cord and Fíli and Nori joined in while Balin tapped his foot in time.

“Do you hear the beat, Ori? Now take my hand. First we go forward,” Dis instructed, pulling Ori into position, “then we go back. And again… and then we join hands and skip to the left.”

Fíli could feel his fingers loosen as he ran the bow along the strings, watching his mother try to teach an increasing flustered Ori beside her.

“Now spin around, Ori – no, let go of my hand – come, now take it again and we’ll skip to the left. Ok, now, typically there will be a dozen couples or so and this is the part when they would begin to weave -“

But Ori was shaking his head. “I can’t, it’s too much…”

Dis waved her hand dismissively, attempting to tug Ori around in a circle. “No, it’s easy, you’ll get it. Now, next, you do everything in reverse.”

Fíli thought Ori would faint in fright. “Oh, m’lady, please-“

“Step aside,” Dwalin said roughly, having laid his viol aside. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Dwalin gently took Dis’ hand from Ori and the pair began to circle each other. Fíli looked on, bemused at the expression that had come upon his mother’s face. Fíli and Nori finished out the set as the two gracefully moved to the rhythm of the old dance until at last the song ended and they stood in the middle of the room, staring at each other with flushed faces.

Nori cleared his throat loudly and chuckled. Balin grinned from ear to ear and settled back into his chair, sipping his tea.

Dis smoothed her braids and her beard before murmuring a thanks to Dwalin. She turned to Ori and laid a kind hand on his shoulder. “Mister Dwalin makes it look quite easy, and it is, once you get the hang of it. You’ll just have to practice.”

“Or better yet, ask a maiden to show ya,” Nori chortled as his little brother turned a violent shade of purple.

Dis turned to face Fíli and extended her hands to him. “Dance with your mother?” she asked sweetly, smiling in a way that only a mother can to make you feel guilty if you were to deny her request.

Fíli touched his chest, in an indication to his wound. “Ma,” he pleaded, “I’m in no condition to dance a jig.”

“Oh, come now,” Dis said as she waved a dismissed hand. “Not all dances are jigs. They’ll play something slow… Dwalin, would you oblige us with ‘Wild Mountain Thyme’?”

“Ma,” Fíli protested in earnest, but Dis was already pulling him up from his seat. He leaned on her as she took his hand in hers and slowly began to walk him through the simple Greenway dance.

As they slowly turned in time with the music, Dis gently laid her head on Fíli’s shoulder. Fíli sighed and rested chin atop her graying head. Soon he felt her tears begin to soak through his shirt. He could hear her softly singing the words to the song that Dis had sung to her boys as a lullaby in a time and land that now seemed so far away. She choked back a sob on the last verse and Fíli held his mother, his own silent tears falling down his cheek, as they mourned the hole in their hearts.

+++

On the first true day of spring, Dale began their festival. Although areas of the city were still heavily under construction, everyone set aside their work to attend the street fair. Traders sold their goods from carts and merchants set up small wooden stalls for their wares, which lined the narrow streets. Light green and white banners had been hung from street posts and roof tops and floated on the warm southern breeze. Apples trees that dotted courtyards showed signs of their first spring blossoms, the small white petals swaying with the soft wind.

Food of every kind was in abundance. Vendors sold cheeses, breads and wines. Farmers brought in their overwintered crops of fresh young greens and root vegetables. Fishermen sold their catch alongside the butcher who had prepared and slow-roasted several young goats.

Many of the dwarves who had taken up residence in Erebor, to include almost all members of Thorin’s Company, attended the festival. Bofur and Bombur accompanied Fíli through the narrow streets of Dale, squeezing their way through the crowd of dwarves and men alike. Bombur insisted on tasting everything, from the smoked trout and salted catfish to the radishes, mokum and javelin roots. Fíli leaned lightly upon Bofur, who nibbled on a sweet onion while he studiously observed a row of pull-string toys hanging from a toymaker’s stall. Many of the streets in Dale were steep and crowded and Fíli was finding it difficult to catch his breath.

He could faintly hear musicians playing above the hum of the crowd, flutes and strings and drums beating out a lively rhythm. Fíli briefly wondered if there would indeed be dancing, as Balin and his mother had recalled.

Fíli chewed on small piece of dried fruit that Bombur had passed to him as they meandered through the fair. Carpenters had their woodworking on display, chairs and cupboards and small boxes with ornately carved and painted lids. Fíli paused to buy one such box that looked to have a particularly dwarfish design etched into the top, thinking his mother would like it. He also purchased some colorful beeswax candles, which he slipped into his leather bag beside the painted box.

A short while later, he and Bombur found that they had lost sight of Bofur, who likely had turned back to the toymaker’s stand, since he had occupied that profession back in the Blue Mountains. Balin soon appeared through the crowd of men, which allowed Bombur to trot back up the hill in search for his brother.

Balin’s arms were overflowing with rich fabrics and soft leathers. His bag was filled with bread, root vegetables and greens, and bottles of oils and spices from the apothecary. Fíli made to help ease his load, but Balin quickly shushed him away and instead, he called a young lad over and slipped a coin into his hand, telling him to deliver his goods to a cart outside the gates of Dale. Once delivered, the waiting dwarf would see to it that the boy received the other half of his payment.

Balin chuckled as the youth hurried away, his arms laden with goods. He stroked his long, white beard and turned a twinkling eye to Fíli. “Well, laddie, how do you like the festival?”

“It’s a bit crowded,” Fíli admitted, rubbing his chest tenderly, “but there is much to see.”

“Yes, that there is,” Balin replied. “Come, let us step inside for a drink and a talk.”

Fíli curiously followed Balin down an alley and into a tavern that was surprisingly empty considering all of the commotion outside, the sunlight brightening the large room from the patterned glass windows. Balin settled down at a table beside the window and signaled to the barkeep for service.

Once their drinks had been delivered, Balin took a long drink before sighing and settling back in his chair. Fíli drank the dark brew more slowly, thankful for an opportunity to finally be off his feet.

“I suppose you know that Dáin is planning his return to the Ironhills.”

Fíli nodded, scratching the growing stubble on his chin. “Yes, I heard him mention to Mother that he meant to return before too long.”

“It is his desire to begin his journey home on the next turn of the moon. That is why we must make arrangements for your coronation within the fortnight.”

Fíli almost choked on his ale. “My…”

Balin nodded, continuing his thought. “Dáin will need to be present for the crowning. He falls next in line for the throne, after… after, you.”

He sighed, rubbing his brow. “I didn’t think… this is all happening too quickly… Balin,” Fíli glanced up, worry furrowing his brow, “I fear I am not ready for this.”

The old dwarf laughed, not unkindly. “There are few who take the throne that truly are. But that is why you will have advisors to help guide you. Myself, your mother, Dwalin… Dáin will provide support and aid from the Ironhills, if ever we should call. We will assemble a group of counsellors who are experts in their field to sit at your table and offer their wisdom.” Balin patted his hand reassuringly. “It will be alright. The kingdom is a heavy burden to bear, but you do not need to bear it alone… and on that thought, I would speak to you of another matter.”

Fíli tried not to scowl at his old teacher, but his head was beginning to ache. “Yes?” he said tersely.

“Well, there is also the matter of finding you a wife.”

Fíli stared blankly at Balin. “What of it?”

“The prospect of marriage is a very important one for a royal head to consider, such as it were. It used to be that all the great dwarf lords would bring their daughters to the court of whichever king or dwarrow-lord was in need of a wife. Alas, it would seem that our numbers are growing few and dwarrow-dames are not so easily found, especially those of an age and desire to wed. I think I recall Glóin’s wife’s brother having a daughter… or was that a son? Hm…” Balin paused, tugging on his beard. “Well, I’ll have to find Glóin to settle that matter. The other option in this affair would be a political-union.”

“A what now?”

“An arrangement, you see, between the Mountain and the City…”

Fíli narrowed his eyes at Balin and folded his arms defiantly. “You mean an arranged marriage? With who?”

“Bard’s oldest daughter. She’s a pretty lass… she helped tend to the wounded after the battle – you included. With the bargeman now crowned King of Dale, that would make her a princess.” Fíli stared at Balin. The older dwarf sighed and took another long draw from his mug. “Look, laddie, I’m not saying it would be easy, but it would tie Erebor and Dale together. The match would make for a strong political alliance and help to mend the brokenness between our two peoples.”

Fíli gazed down at his clasped hands. Surely there was no way that she would want to be bound to him in marriage. He faintly recalled her embarrassment and discomfort at his state of undress while in his recovery tent. He grimaced at the memory and gently rubbed a hand over his scar.

He heard Balin sigh again and looked up. “Just think upon it, my boy. Now, back to your coronation. There is much to discuss and decide upon, and little time to do it in. Let’s start with the matter of your crown. Thror’s crown has been buried with Thorin, so we will have to fashion you a new one. How do you see it in your mind?” Balin asked, pulling a bit of parchment and a stick of charcoal from his breast pocket.

Fíli sipped at his ale, pondering. “Similar to Thorin’s,” he said quietly, tracing the grain of the wood with his fingers. “But perhaps smaller, less grand... and set in silver, not in gold.”

Balin and Fíli gazed at each other before Balin nodded, unspoken understanding passing between them. Balin made a few quick notes next to his sketch.

“I will buy some more materials for the tailors to look over and we will have them fit you for new robes.”

“What of ceremonial weaponry?” Fíli asked casually, watching as Balin blocked out some rough designs.

Balin glanced up for a moment from his parchment. “Perhaps we can forge you a decorative dagger or two,” Balin said, winking at him.

Fíli grinned back, the first flutter of excitement beating through his belly. Of all the things happening, he was most excited about the knives… He mentally scolded himself for being so childish, but he couldn’t wipe the foolish smile from his face.

They discussed the announcement and invitation of lordly dwarrow houses as well as those of neighboring Elfs and men. Then there was talk of music, feasting, and drink. Truthfully, Fíli followed Balin’s lead on many of the decisions, having little knowledge himself of how these proceedings worked.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Balin said, pulling a small item from his robe. He laid a silver ring upon the table, a dark sapphire set within the band and its peak encased in silver runes. “Your uncle’s seal. This belongs to you now, Fíli.”

Fíli twirled the ring between his fingers. The metal was cool to the touch and heavy, for it was a true dwarf-forged piece. Reverently, he slipped the silver band onto the middle finger of his right hand. “Thank you,” he whisper, gazing down at the seal.

Balin bowed to him. “My king,” he said, “I am at your service.”

Balin left Fíli to attend with the many matters they had just discussed. Fíli met up with Dori, Nori, and Ori in the central square, where the men of Dale were preparing the yard for dancing.

The four dwarves feasted on roast goat and winter root vegetables as they sat beneath an apple tree on the far side of the yard. Children chased each other across the cobblestone, weaving between the adults who were beginning to pair off into couples.

Several musicians set up beneath a canopy of green silk and began to pick together cords as they tuned their instruments. Ori nudged Fíli’s shoulder, nodding to a low wall that ran along one side of the square. He helped pull Fíli up to his feet and Fíli followed slowly after Ori, gingerly applying pressure to his chest, which was starting to ache. Dori remained in the corner under the apple tree, content to smoke his pipe and sip his wine away from the commotion while Nori snuck off up the hill into the thick of the crowded streets.

Fíli carefully sat down atop the short wall and watched as the band began the first song, the couples starting the night off with a lively country jig. Ori bobbed his head along with the music, watching the pairs twirl and duck and weave between one another with wide eyes. Fíli looked fondly at his friend and began to pack his pipe with some of the leaf Bilbo had left for them.

As Fíli sat beside Ori smoking his pipe, watching all of the night festivities unfold before them, a flash of blue caught his eye from across the courtyard. She had ribbons woven in her hair, which fluttered and twirled behind her as she spun with her younger siblings around in a Rhovanioncountry dance.

Balin’s words came creeping back to him. With few dwarrow-dames of marrying age left, a marriage between the two races might be the right political alliance to strengthen the union between Erebor and Dale once more. After all, he was heir to Erebor and soon to be crowned and she the daughter of the new king of Dale. And yet… Fíli had doubt in his mind. She was a daughter of man; surly she would never agree to such a marriage. She was young and not likely to give up her freedom willingly for a city that was only now being rebuilt from rubble, much less to him… a dwarf…

Fíli continued to gaze after her, a strange pang thumping at his heart. After a few more songs, a young girl with red hair approached Ori and shyly asked him to dance with her. Ori reluctantly agree and followed her into the band of dancers, throwing Fíli a terrified look.

He chuckled as he watched his friend clumsily follow the girl’s lead, Ori staring down at her feet while he tried to follow suit and find the rhythm.

Fíli gave a start when a slender shoulder brushed against his. Sigrid had lifted herself up onto the low wall to sit beside him, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she offered him a small smile. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and small, wavy curls had fallen loose from her braids. He had never seen a woman look half so lovely as Sigrid did in that moment, her features bathed in moon and firelight, her lips parted slightly as she caught her breath.

Fíli clinched his jaw and swallowed thickly. Had she noticed him staring after her? He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks and he quickly looked away, turning his attention back to Ori as he stumbled through the lively dance. He took a nervous pull from his pipe, blowing out the smoke in thin, wispy curls.

“How are you?” Sigrid asked kindly, smoothing her skirts. Fíli noticed from the corner of his eye that the fabric wasn’t just blue, but had thin strands of silver threaded into the material, causing it to shimmer softly as it caught the light.  

When Fíli braved a glance back at her, Sigrid was gazing at his chest. His fingers moved on their own accord and brushed over the bandage that hid beneath his shirt.

He hesitantly cleared his throat. “Much better, thank you,” he said politely.

They sat in silent beside each other, Sigrid idly swinging her feet and Fíli smoking his pipe as they watched the dancers. The musicians were beginning to change their song, shifting and twisting the melody into a slower tune.

He saw Sigrid chew on her lip for a moment before dipping her head toward his. “Would you like to dance?” she asked.

Fíli was about to decline politely, explain that his wound had still not fully healed and that dancing would likely put too much strain upon his body. And yet, he heard himself answer as if he had no control over his own tongue, accepting her offer.

She smiled brightly at him and hopped off the low wall. He gently pushed himself down, making sure that his movements were slow and deliberate as to minimize the pain he was bound to feel in his chest later that night. He carefully knocked the ashes out of his pipe and set it securely on the wall alongside his leather bag.

Sigird was not a tall woman by men’s standards, but she still stood more than a head taller than Fíli. She tentatively took his hand in hers and pull him to the edge of the crowd. As they clasped hands, Fíli noticed that their hands were almost the same size, save that her fingers were long and slender while his were short and thick.

He stepped slowly as Sigrid moved around him, twirling prettily in his arms. They drifted slightly away from the other pairs, Fíli losing himself in their own little world as he watched Sigrid’s graceful movements. Damn Balin for setting his thoughts to dames… and women.

Absentmindedly, he found that he had laced his fingers in hers. They stood before each other, swaying slightly, hand in hand. Sigrid stared down at him, her blue eyes deep pools that were slowly pulling him under and drowning him.

He slowly reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Ori, who had finally escaped his dancing partner.

“Fíli!”

His hand quickly dropped from her cheek as he turned toward the younger dwarf. Ori stood with his hands on his knees, panting as he fought to catch his breath.

“Please, please save me – I can’t dance anymore… it’s… horrifying!”

Fíli threw a glance back to Sigrid and noticed that she had stepped away from him, brushing at her skirts. She gave him a small smile and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Until next time.”

He gazed after her as she turned and walked away, her skirts and ribbons flowing behind her. “Until next time,” he murmured after her.


	5. Chapter 5

Fíli stood upon a raised platform draped in rich fabrics while Ónar moved around him, his wife Kona following after with a cushion full of pins. The old dwarf shuffled about, muttering to himself as he measured Fíli’s arm and pulled at the cloth, setting pins where alterations were needed. Balin sat on a cushioned seat, his sketches in hand, as he explained to the tailor what his designs fully entailed.

As he stood still with his arms extended in various positions, he began to grow restless. He glanced out the window at the sunshine pouring in from the outside world. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping and children playing. Fíli glanced back at his companions in the small, dark room of Ónar’s recently established shop. Bolts of linen, satin, cotton and wool were everywhere – stuck into cabinets and stacked in piles that reached to the ceiling.  Ori sat beside one such pile of at least twenty different shades of yellow, charcoal pencil in hand while he took notes and aided Balin when called.

Ori had taken to his new task as Balin’s aid very well. He was quick and thorough with any task that Balin set him to. Fíli thought that Ori quite preferred this line of work rather than laboring down in the mines… and being out from under his eldest brother’s wing was probably just an extra advantage to working in Balin’s service.

Fíli sighed as Ónar continued to poke and prod at him, letting his mind slip away. Balin had made many of the coronation arrangements very quickly and now it was only a week away. Fíli was to be dressed in ceremonial armor with the Chest of Durin stamped across the silver breastplate, the seven stars inlaid with sapphires and the hammer and anvil lined with mithril. His robes would resemble the ones that his uncle had been laid to rest in, royal blue and trimmed in silver and gray furs. Balin has arranged for new boots and chainmail to be made and the jewelers were well underway with the forging of his new crown. 

When Ónar finally had all his measurements taken and alterations marked, the trio left the shop to make the short journey back to the mountain. As they passed Girion’s citadel at the highest point in the city, Balin called out a greeting to Bard, who was speaking with a small gathering of men. Bard left his meeting and stepped aside with Balin, the pair speaking in hushed tones for a few moments. While Fíli and Ori waited under a canopy, Fíli glanced around the yard. He observed a group of expert stonemasons shaping blocks and setting them in the new western wall of the citadel. Merchants sold their wares from colorful wooden carts and stands, much like they had during the festival. As Fíli’s eyes wandered, they rested upon a balcony, about three floors up. A young girl leaned over the railing, excitedly watching the daily bustle of the crowd below. Her sister appeared behind her, ushering her back into a room hidden by airy red curtains.

Fíli took a step forward as if to follow after them. Ori glanced up at him curiously, pausing for a moment from his sketches. He took a step back, leaning against a stone pillar, and crossed his arms, returning his gaze to watch the citizens of Dale mill about their daily chores. He needed to speak with Sigrid. He needed to get to know her, to see … to see if he was the kind of husband that would suit her. If she was the kind of wife to take him. It would be almost impossible to speak with her in private here, now… but perhaps, later, once most others had gone to sleep… Fíli decided that he would come back later to speak with her after nightfall.

+++

As Fíli slipped unnoticed down the narrow, winding streets of Dale, he noted how different it was now from when it had been adorned for the Spring Festival. A few green banners still hung from scattered street posts and an odd window or two, but the streets were mainly bare and dim. Balin had told Fíli that the Dale of his youth had be lively and full of color, art and whimsy. Looking around, Fíli could see hints of color – faded red clay titles on a few of the inhabitable homes, a faint etching of bluish vines crawling up the wall of what might have once been a garden or courtyard, and a funny looking sculpture that vaguely resembled a rooster.

With his blue hood pull up around his face, Fíli would have been difficult to recognize beyond just a traveling dwarf under the cover of night. Still, he was surprised to find he was not the only dwarf wondering the streets of Dale at night. Indeed, it seemed that dwarves from all over Middle Earth had started to pour into the area since word had spread that the dragon was dead and Erebor had been reclaimed. Most of the dwarves came to the Mountain, looking to work in the mines, but some who were not miners, stone masons, or jewelers, were beginning to settle in Dale where they could better perform their craft, similar to Ónar.

Fíli followed the winding street up through the city levels, carefully disappearing from shadow to shadow until finally he arrived at the opening of a great courtyard. Budding trees dotted the bare space, but Fíli could see were patches of earth had been turned, likely in the hopes of growing a flower or herb garden. Sculpted figures guarded the yard on three sides, all ethereal beings with flowing hair and robes, baring pitchers which were tipped forward as to spill the fountain’s contents into shallow pools.

Fíli turned his gaze to the far side of the yard, where the King’s residence was stationed. After the exterior walls had been mended, Girion’s citadel had been one of the first buildings to undergo restoration construction. While almost completed, there were still signs of construction along the western-facing wall, which had sustained most of the damage from the dragon fire.

He stood for a moment, pondering what to do next. If he was caught, he was sure that Bard and Balin both would skin his hide… on second thought, Sigrid might not appreciate him popping by her room in the middle of the night either…

Fíli took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He needed to talk with her and tonight had been one of the only times in the past few days he had been left alone. It seemed that Balin had set Ori to trail after him wherever he went. He adored the younger dwarf, but he was driving him mad. A painful ache echoed in his chest as the distant memory of another dwarf who used to follow after Fíli as if he were his shadow.

Shaking the thought away before he lost himself, he quickly assessed the balcony to the right of the main entrance. A soft pink light glowed from the room above a twisted fig tree that grew along the wall beneath the stone terrace.

After mentally plotting out his course, Fíli jogged across the expanse of the yard and swiftly slipped beneath the expansive shadow of the tree. He gathered several small bits of rock from the courtyard ground and weighed them in his palm before taking aim and tossing one onto the balcony.

Fíli held his breath as he listened to the pebble hit the wall and clatter to the floor. Several moments passed in silence. He weighed another bit of stone in his hand and repeated the action, the crack of the rock echoing softly once again. This time he heard a faint movement and the sheer red curtain was cautiously pushed aside. Above him, Sigrid peered nervously over the balcony, out into the night.

“Sigrid,” Fíli called quietly, stepping to the edge of the shadow.

She turned toward his voice, searching until her eyes landed on him. “Fíli?” she whispered, leaning against the railing. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you.”

“With me? Now?”

Fíli nodded, gazing up at her features, which were darkened against the light emanating from her room. “Yes, I’m truly sorry for disturbing you, but I’ve only just been able to get away and…” he paused, not really know how to continue.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before he saw her nod. She glanced back into the room for a moment. “Tilda is sleeping right now… I don’t know if it would be wise for me to come down... Da sets men about to patrol the yard.” She wrapped her shawl around her slender shoulders tighter and looked down at him curiously. “What did you need to speak with me about?”

He gazed up at her, his throat suddenly having gone dry. Fíli swallowed thickly before composing himself. “I don’t know if your father – Bard – the king – I don’t know if he’s spoken with you about… I know he discussed it with Balin. I mean, I don’t know exactly what they discussed, I wasn’t there, you see…”

Sigrid stared down at him, confusion etched in her features.

Fíli ran his hands over his face. “I feel like a fool… it’s just… I guess… I-I’d like to get to know you better.”

A small laugh bubbled from her lips. “You came all this way in the middle of the night to say that you’d like to get to know me better?”

Fíli felt his cheeks blush scarlet and for a moment he thought he might never recovery from the shame of his embarrassment when Sigrid call softly to him. “I think I’d like to know you better as well, Fíli…”  

She turned to glance inside for a moment before leaning down the balcony railing. “We’ll be going down to the estuary tomorrow at midday. If you wait a bit upstream, I’ll meet you there at half past noon.”

Fíli considered for a brief moment. He figured he would be able to give Ori the slip as long as he played his cards right. From the eastern street, he could hear the sound of men’s voices drawing near. Fíli dipped into a low bow in farewell. “Until tomorrow,” he called softly, before disappearing into the quickening shadows. 

+++

Fíli waited along the stream that feed the great lake, lounging upon a high rock and relishing at the warmth of the sun upon his face. Days like today reminded him of the times in which he and Kíli had acted as escorts for Blue Mountain merchants along the greenway. They had been days full of long walks and bright sun.

He mindlessly whittled as the sun climbed higher into the sky. Ravens flew overhead, carrying and delivering messages to and from Erebor. It seemed that Balin was hard at work again, making even more preparations for his coronation and running the everyday operations of the Kingdom under the Mountain.

Time slowly ticked by and the sun crawled past the high point in the sky.  Fíli pulled an apple from his pack and reaching up his sleeve, retrieving a small knife from a hidden pocket. He was finally starting to gain his taste for apples back – not an easy task after having endured a tumble down a river shoved into an apple barrel. Three apples later though, he was starting to feel a bit sick. Fíli gazed up at the sky, measuring the progression of the sun. He was starting to worry that Sigrid wouldn’t show up, when he heard movement around the bend.

She emerged from the other side of a large bolder, carefully picking her way along the rocks.  Sigrid smiled brightly when she spotted him and made to cross the water on a series of partially submerged rocks. She was halfway across when she stepped onto a loose rock, which twisted and disappeared beneath the surface. She let out a small screech as the icy waters lapped at her legs. Fíli jumped down and helped pull her up onto the shore. She giggled as she shook out her pale blue skirts, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and cold. Fíli smiled up at her and then gestured toward a high dry rock.

She turned and sat down, casting off her boots and wet stockings, setting them upon the rocks to dry.

Fili stared at Sigrid and tried not to look down at her long legs. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold water and exercise. Her dark blonde hair was damp and pulled into a hasty braid, plated and pulled to one side.

Sigrid nervously tucked some damp hair behind her ear. “Why are you staring at me so?” she breathed.

“You’re just…” Fíli paused and cleared his throat. “You’re a very pretty lass.”

Sigrid ducked her head away, but Fíli thought he saw her smile.

“So,” she said, fanning out her skirts and leaning back. “You asked me here to get to know me better. If my father knew that I was alone with a boy- dwarf –“

She glanced uneasily at Fíli, but he brushed it off. “I know what you meant.”

Sigrid bit her lip and nodded.

Fíli sat down beside her, but kept enough distance between them as to not seem improper. “So, Sigrid, daughter of Bard, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked, casting Fíli a curious glance.

“Tell me anything and everything.”

She smiled. “Ok, then. I’m the eldest in my family, but I suppose you already knew that. I love summer on the lake, when everything is in bloom. The water and the skies are so blue and the world is so bright and humming with life. I’ve never been anywhere, save for around the lake, and I’d desperately like to see more of the world. My mother’s family wasn’t originally from Laketown… they came down from the north when she was young to escape orcs raids on the Withered Heath at the foot of the Grey Mountains. My mother died almost eight years ago. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known… only…” she frowned for a moment. “Only, now I find that with each passing year, it gets harder for me to remember her face…”

“I understand,” Fíli said, tossing a stone into the creek. “My father died when I was just a dwarfling. I still have some faint memories of him, but Kíli is hard pressed… was… was hard pressed…”

He felt her hand tentatively rest on top of his. She squeezed his hand gently. “I am truly sorry about your brother… and your uncle. And your father.” He almost jumped when he felt her head rest upon his shoulder. “You’ve lost so much…”

Fíli smiled sadly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “So have you,” he whispered, interlacing his fingers with hers. He briefly noted again how different their hands were, his broad and short and rough while hers were long and slender, and despite that, it seemed they fit together perfectly. He gently rested his head atop hers. “Tell me about your mother.”

“She was very prett- oh, I’ve already said that… She had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen and always wore her hair pinned back. She would sit and sow by the window and sing songs for Bain and me. She loved the purple heather that grows along the foothills of the mountain because it reminded her of her childhood home. She would take us as close as Da would allow her to venture to the mountain so that we could gather up bundles of heather and bring it back home where we would hang dozens of bunches from the rafters to dry so that our home would always smell of the wilds and sweet things in winter. Sometimes she would weave us crowns and tell us stories of grand kings and warrior princesses… and thinking back, they must have been tales of your folk, tales from the Mountains.”

Fíli chuckled, running a hand over his chin. “Maybe, perhaps. Go on, lass.”

“Well, my mother was the one to teach me to dance when I got older, although Da wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. She loved to dance and sometimes, late at night, after we had been put to bed, I would watch my Da dance with my mother in the kitchen. Nothing fancy, because Da didn’t really know how to dance, but he would hold her close and turn her about and I don’t remember either of them ever looking so happy as when they were alone in the kitchen, just holding each other.” Sigrid gave a small sigh. “She died when I was eleven. She had just given birth to Tilda and I wasn’t supposed to be home – Da had sent us away to the neighbors once her labor pains had started, but I snuck back in after a few hours and I don’t think Da had the heart to tell me to leave again. Da had just handed Tilda to me, and I remember looking down at my little sister and thinking how strange and pink she looked… and I heard the midwife tell my Da to fetch the Apothecary because she couldn’t get my mother to stop bleeding…”

Sigrid paused, her breathing turned shallow. Fíli continued to hold her hand and offer what little comfort he could.

“It’s hard when someone you love is taken from you,” Fíli said quietly. “It feels like a piece of you is missing.”

“Like there is a hole in your heart and you feel like you will never be the same.”

Fíli nodded and tossed another rock across the water. “Yes…”

“Like all the joy has been stolen from your life and you think there is nothing that could ever make you smile again.”

Fíli glanced sideways at the girl beside him. “How long … did it take until you smiled again?”

“I cried myself to sleep for months after my mother died. But one day, when I was caring for Tilda, she looked up and smiled at me… and I couldn’t help smiling back. She filled my life with happiness again. And… and I think that maybe we could give each other that same happiness.”

He froze, his muscles tensing. “So your father did speak with you?”

He felt her shake her head. “No… but my father has been meeting with Balin quite regularly over the past few weeks and when you mysteriously showed up last night, rambling on about how you wanted to get to know me better… I kind of guessed.”

Fíli groaned. “I thought I was being quite clever.”

Sigrid pulled away from Fíli and sat back on her heels, observing him with those deep blue eyes that Fíli felt certain if he stared into long enough he would lose himself. “I happen to think you are very clever.”

He tried to hide his grin, but found he was failing miserably. He nervously wet his dry lips and pulled at his mustache.

She looked curiously at him. “May I ask a question that might be…”

“You can ask me anything, Sigrid.”

She leaned closer, staring at his mouth for a moment before her eyes flickered back up to his. “Your braids, I see them on a lot of dwarves. Is there a significance to them?”

He smiled, pulling several of his braids forward. “Dwarves find great value in our hair. Our braids are mainly for function and practicality… and perhaps a bit as a fashion.” He touched the back of his head, where a pin held back the majority of his hair. He pulled the pin and handed it to Sigrid, who took it reverently and turned it over in her hand.

“These markings are beautiful,” she breathed, tracing the pattern.

“Thank you,” Fíli murmured, watching Sigrid closely. “It was my father’s.”

She glanced up at him and smiled. She tentatively reached forward and brushed some hair from his eyes before returning the pin.

Fíli felt a strong heat crawl up his neck as he hastily collected the hair from the crown of his head and repined it in place. He cleared his throat roughly. “So. Like I said… practicality is very important because we work in many dangerous trades. You can’t wear your hair loose if you’re mining or working a forge. But some dwarves braid their hair purely as a fashion. Now that Dale is being rebuilt and many merchants are returning, you will likely see a lot more intricate braiding of hair. But some is for symbolism as well.” He pointed to the side of his head. “I wear two braids to show that I am second in line in my family.”

“So after your coronation, you would wear a single braid?” Sigrid asked.

He nodded, his eyes drifting up to the Lonely Mountain that stood beside them. “Yes,” he said quietly, his mind drifting back to his looming coronation for a moment. When he finally turned back to Sigrid, she was still gazing at him.

“Our beads hold much meaning,” he said, unclasping one from his braid and dropping it into Sigrid’s hand. “The patterns on these are part of my family’s crest. My uncle gave me these, on my thirtieth birthday.”

Sigrid rolled the bead between her fingers. “I thought they would have been heavier,” she said, examining the runes.

“It’s part of the craftsmanship,” he explained, collecting himself before taking the chance. “I can make you some. As a courtship gift… if you’re really not opposed to this… the idea of us…”

Sigrid smiled at him. “I’m not opposed to this. I’ve seen the kind of person you are, Fíli – when your brother was hurt, you were loyal and stayed by his side. You fought to protect my family when we were attacked by orcs, and you helped rescue us from Laketown when the dragon came down from the Mountain and all was in flame. I don’t believe there is much more that I could hope for in this life that you haven’t already shown to me.” She gently touched his cheek before returning his bead to him. “You are one of the bravest, kindest souls I have ever met. I think we understand one another and I think you would be good to me, Fíli … and I know I could be a good wife.”

Fíli grinned at her. “You think too much of me –“

But she shook her head. “No, I don’t think I do. I think it’s hard to see yourself as others see you. You are a good soul and I would be proud to stand by your side. The hard part will come when you ask my father for my hand.”

He felt a smug smile pull at his lips. “But if I’ve already won you over, so how hard could your father be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you so much for sticking with me! A lot has been going on at work and over the past week I've had to proof-read, edit, and rewrite contractor proposals and when I got home at night, I didn't even want to look at a computer... I feel like I write best when it flows natually and the story just organically grows and it just wasn't coming together like it did in the previous few chapters. However, I think I've got my stride back, so hopefully I'll have another chapter written and posted for you by the end of next weekend! - xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

Bard turned out to be less amiable about his daughter than Fíli had expected. Fíli had accompanied Balin on one of his diplomatic meeting to Dale and during the course of the meeting, had expressed his interest in courting Sigrid, with Bard’s permission, of course.

Although Bard and Balin had spoken in great length about this and other matters, it seemed that an agreement had not yet been reached. After a few terrifying moments of silence, Bard called for his daughter, who was quickly summoned into the citadel’s large courtroom.

Sigrid arrived with Tilda in tow, but Bard instructed for his youngest daughter to be sent away, as this matter needed to be settled in privacy.

Fíli watched as Sigrid crossed the hall to stand beside her father. Her light cream-colored skirts were dotted with embroidered red flowers, falling from her waistcoat to pool at the hem line. She offered Balin and Fíli a curtesy before turning to stand before her father, waiting for him to speak. Fíli fought back a small smile when he noticed that Sigrid’s hair had been braided and twisted into a bun at the base of her neck.

Bard drummed his fingers against the table, staring hard at the two dwarves. Fíli, not planning to lose this game of intimidation, drew himself to his full height in his chair, his jaw set and his head held high. He returned Bard’s harsh stare, not wanting to give an inch.

Balin shifted slightly in the seat next to him, clearly sensing the building tension. “My dear lass,” he said to Sigrid, breaking the silence, “you are looking very well.”

Sigrid smiled at the snowy-haired dwarf. “Thank you, master dwarf. I hope the repairs at Erebor are going well.”

“Yes, yes, very well, thank you. There is, of course, much to do, but most of the repairs on the Southern Entrance have been completed and the Hall of Kings has been restored in time for the coronation ceremony.”

“I imagine everyone is quite excited for the festivities – more and more travelers are pouring into the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King under the Mountain.”

Fíli could feel Sigrid’s eyes upon him and felt a blazing heat crawl up his spine, but he refused to break eye contact from Bard, who sat glowering at him from the head of the table.

“He’s not king yet,” Bard said sharply, narrowing his eyes, “and kings don’t always get what they covet.”

Sigrid turned to her father. “And what would that be?” she asked.

Bard finally withdrew his gaze from Fíli and turned his attention to his daughter. “He’s come with a proposal. Please sit, Sigrid,” he said more kindly, motioning to the chair on his left.

She cast a glance at Fíli before sitting slowly and folding her hands in her lap.

Bard drew a hand across his brow and sighed before leaning forward and examining his daughter’s face. “He has come to seek my permission to court you –“

“And for your hand,” Fíli cut in, which earned him the sharp heel of Balin’s boot.

The King of Dale’s face grew dangerously grim. “Yes,” he said slowly through clenched teeth, “and for your hand.” Bard reached out and took Sigrid’s hand in his own. “But I won’t be giving my blessing to anyone – man or dwarf – that my daughter would not consent to be tied to,” he assured her.

Sigrid turned to look at Fíli, who finally returned her gaze. Her blue eyes swam with emotion and for a dreadful moment, Fíli thought she had changed her mind. But then she gave a small nod and turned back to her father. “I would consent to being his,” he hear her whisper softly.

“Sigrid,” Bard began in protest, “You do not have to do this. This arrangement will not be an easy thing. Dwarves are stubborn and hard-headed and greedy – look at what happened to his uncle –“

“But he is not his uncle. He is his own person and I know he has a good heart – I’ve seen it and so have you.” Sigrid squeezed her father’s hand. “I know you’re worried about me, Da, but you needn’t be. Fíli will be good to me.”

Fíli felt his face turn crimson at the way his name rolled off her tongue. He quickly shoved away inappropriate thoughts that began to creep into his mind. He was sure that if Kíli had been here, he would have teased him relentlessly.

With a reserved sigh, Bard turned back to the two dwarves, but only addressed Balin. “I will agree to the arrangement under certain conditions. If this courtship is to go forward, it is with the intention of marriage. A formal announcement of engagement should be made once an agreement of terms has been established –“

“Terms?” Fíli questioned, frowning.

“Yes, lad,” Balin said calmly, “Terms and conditions which will unite Erebor and Dale – terms of alliance and economy. We can discuss these matters later, after your coronation –“

“Why not discuss them now? I think Sigrid and I have an equal right to know what is going on. I have every intention of marrying your daughter honorably,” Fíli directed to Bard, “When I am king and she my wife, I won’t keep things from her, so I don’t expect to have her enter into this arrangement blindly.”

Bard nodded slowly, twisting Girion’s ring on his finger absentmindedly. “So be it.” Bard called in a guard and asked for paper and ink to be brought. “Balin, would you mind transcribing?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Balin assumed him, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his long white beard into his belt. When the parchment, ink well and quills had been delivered, Balin organizing the items before him. Dipping the tip of the quill into the ink, he tapped off the excess and held the writing instrument at the ready.

Bard leaned forward, resting his forearms before him on the great wooden table. “First, the announcement –“

“Shall take place after my coronation,” Fíli said firmly. “I’ll make it myself, with her at my side.”

Bard nodded. “Fine. Now onto the business at hand.”

Balin cleared his throat and read:

_Conditions of Alliance_

_Agreed hereto, freely and under neither duress nor force nor coercion nor extortion nor threat of life and/or limb, as set forth hereunder: Fíli, sister-son of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, shall ascend to his rightful place as King of Erebor in five days hence. Bard, descendent of Girion and King of Dale, consents to the union of his eldest daughter, the lady Sigrid, to Fíli, in the hopes of forming a lasting union between the great Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor and Dale, the city of man. This alliance shall call upon the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor to stand together in the face of all common enemies and to provide aid in times of hardship, famine, drought, plague, and dragon fire._

Balin glanced up from his papers. “There are several specific details we shall need to discuss now before proceeding,” Balin said. “Bard, I believe you had mentioned the desire to rebuild Lake-town, so as to act as the trading port for both Dale and Erebor.”

Bard nodded and turned to Fíli. “I would ask that you help in the rebuilding of Lake-town to its former state. It is in a good location to act as a main trading center for Esgaroth and warehouses could be erected to store goods prior to distribution. The lake is an excellent source of fish and I know many fishermen that would leave Dale to be back out on the waters, if only their homes were rebuilt.”

Fíli tugged at the growing hairs on his chin. “So you would have Erebor finance the rebuilding of both Dale and Lake-town, as well as take on the reconstruction of our own damaged halls?

“It would be a considerable expense,” Balin pointed out. “Perhaps we could work out a recompense arrangement based upon trade...”

“How much,” Bard asked skeptically.

“80/20 share,” Fíli suggested.

Bard’s face hardened. “You would take so much? Sounds a bit greedy to me –“

Sigrid gasped disapprovingly. “Da-“

Fíli started back at the king, unflinching. “We are to finance the reconstruction of your city, your town on the lake and build new warehouses, as well as carry our own burden of rebuilding, and you call me greedy? I think not. I may not have been affected by the dragon sickness the way that it took hold of my uncle, but I will not give away the gold that my forbearers spent years working from the earth. I call the trade share fair for the services we are providing you, not greedy.”

“Perhaps there is more that can be negotiated than just trade share,” Sigrid offered quietly. “I imagine Erebor’s resources for certain provisions are rather limited. We have farmers, who will be planting fields and raising pigs and sheep in the eastern fields. We have fishermen and hunters who can bring in catch and game. Merchants are already returning to the city – let us add that lot into the repayment to Erebor.”

He considered what Sigrid had said. It was true that Erebor would rely heavily on the outside world for supplies as well as other essentials.

“75/25,” he offered, studying Sigrid’s face closely.

“60/40,” she countered boldly, “and Dale will supply Erebor with a portion of the harvest in every season. If any other provisions are required, they will be traded for at a discounted rate.”

Fíli stared at the girl across the table and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. He could tell that she was nervous, but confident in her bargaining. He would need someone with her inner strength by his side, to help him see what was just and fair. “Deal,” he agreed.

Bard and Fíli continued to discuss and bargain, arguing and debating over the finer points of the arrangement.TheTreasury of Erebor would fund the rebuilding of Dale’s infrastructure and the reconstruction of Lake-town as a port. In return, Erebor would receive sixty percent of all goods delivered as well as the first corps and livestock of each harvest season. They negotiated a twenty-five percent discount on any other merchandise the dwarves required. In this way, the cities of men were rebuilt, the dwarves received much needed stores and riches would flow both to and from the mountain.

In cases of justice, Bard would deal with all matters of men and the few dwarves that lived in Dale, while Fili would be responsible for the offenses of the dwarves that resided within the Lonely Mountain. In cases involving both races, they agreed to form a joint council to address offenders.

In the unlikely case of war, Erebor would act as a place of refuge for the citizens of Dale. Bard’s archers would serve as scouts and the first line of defense against any outside invaders. Each kingdom would raise up a reserve army to be call upon in time of great need.

In the event of discord, both Fíli and Bard agreed that all measures would be taken to ensure the enduring relationship between Erebor and Dale. They would meet with an arbitrator from each kingdom, in the hopes of reasonably settling any dispute. Fíli named Balin as Erebor’s envoy and arbitrator. Bard named Tate, the captain of his archers, to act as arbitrator of Dale until his son, Bain, came of age.

Once the agreement had been completed, Balin sprinkled the parchment with sand to soak up the excess ink and then slide the paper across the table for Bard to sign and seal.Fíli’s mark and the Crest of Durin pressed firmly into the hot wax followed, while Balin and Sigrid signed as witnesses. And so was the union between the lines of Durin and Girion established.

+++

Balin and Fíli returned to Erebor late that night. They were walking down the hall toward Balin’s chambers when Dís appeared. Fíli called out a greeting to his mother, who did not seem to hear him. Her face was set in a determined scowl as she approached the pair. When she was within arm’s reach, she drew back her arm and struck Fíli across the face. Dazed, Fíli cupped his stinging cheek, staring at his mother through blurred eyes.

“What was that for?” he howled, trying to force the stars from his vision.

A growl ripped through his mother’s throat as she pinched his ear and began to drag him down the hall. “I’ll deal with you later, Balin,” Dís spat.

Once they had reached his mother’s chambers, Dís threw Fíli inside and slammed the door shut. Fíli glared at her, rubbing his sore ear.

“How dare you make a marriage arrangement and not tell me!” she screamed as tears threatened in her eyes. “You are my last living child – how dare you do this and not tell me!”

Fíli stared at Dís, not knowing how to respond. He hadn’t thought – but that was the problem, he could see now. He hadn’t thought it mattered, hadn’t thought she would care… but Dís herself had entered into an arranged marriage with his father, so surely she would have insight that would be useful, that Fíli would need to know…

He began to speak but she brushed off his response.

“Am I not your mother? Do I not get to speak my mind in these matters?” She said angrily, picking up a nearby object and throwing it at his head.

He ducked, avoiding the heavy metal candle holder. “Ma, please,” he attempted, but Dís would not hear it.

“You do not know… Your uncle wouldn’t have wanted this for you. You do not know the burden…” she sunk to the ground, her hand pressed firmly over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

Fíli knelt beside his mother and gathered her in his arms. They sat in silence, holding each other as Dís’ anger abated. Fíli rested his head on her shoulder, feeling her slight trembles as she fought to regain control of her breath.

“I am sorry, Mother,” Fíli said softly. “I should have told you, should have consulted with you... I know you have much wisdom on this matter that would be to my benefit.”

 Dís stroked his aching cheek. “My dear child… you do not have to do this.”

He smiled sadly. “The Line of Durin must not fall. I will not let it die with me.”

Dís nodded in understanding. After a long moment of silence, she finally spoke again. “Will you be happy?”

“I think so,” he replied quietly.

She turned and cupped Fíli’s face, kissing his bruised cheek. “That is all that I care about.” Dís settled into a more comfortable position, smoothing out her flowing linens pants. “Now, tell me about this daughter of man.”

+++

Fíli did not leave Erebor again for the next four days. Balin had arranged for final fittings to take place and was drilling him on the coronation ceremony.

“Dáin will come forward with my mother and place the bloody crown on my head,” Fíli said, earning a smack from Balin. Fíli rubbed his shoulder. “You know, for someone about to ascend the throne, I am being treated very poorly.”

Balin shook his head. “I’ll not say a word to that – it’s not worth incurring your mother’s wrath!”

Fíli chuckled. “Fair enough,” he sighed. He paused for a moment, recollecting his thoughts as Ónar stitched up some loose threads in his tunic. “After Dáin, my mother declares that the _Line of Durin has taken back the Kingdom of Erebor and shall remain there forevermore._ You will stand forward and declare that King Bard of Dale has formed an alliance with Erebor and so on and so forth and then I will make the announcement of my engagement to Sigrid –“

“Exact words, if you please,” Balin said, looking up at Fíli over his glasses.

“ _I, Fíli, of the Line of Durin, and newly appointed King under the Mountain, shall secure the alliance between Erebor and Dale through the marriage of his lordship King Bard’s eldest daughter. One year hence, she and I shall be bound together in marriage, uniting our two great peoples.”_

Balin nodded in approval. “Now, not everyone will be pleased with this bit of news, so don’t take it personally if there is any rudeness after.”

Fíli shrugged, flinching slightly as Ónar accidentally pricked him with the needle. “There were dwarves in the Blue Mountains that married mountain women,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but we’re not in the Blue Mountains any longer, laddie.” Balin tugged on the end of his beard. “Just be aware that some may not like the idea of the heir of Durin coupling with a human and may express it, though not likely to your face.”

“All done, your majesty,” Ónar said, shuffling over to where Balin stood. “All the loose seams have been mended – it will fit like a glove.”

“Thank you, Ónar,” Balin said, pressing a silver coin into the old dwarf’s hand. “We expect to see you and Kona tomorrow.”

“We would not miss it for anything on this Middle Earth. _Zann galikh,_ _Melhekh_ ,” he said and the gray-haired dwarf bowed low, his beard touching the stone floor.

Fíli swallowed thickly. It was the first time anyone had addressed him as king and suddenly his stomach felt like it would tie itself in a knot. “ _Zann galikh,_ _Khuzsh_ ,” he replied in kind. As Ónar left the room, Fíli turned back to Balin and saw that there were tears in his eyes.

“Never thought I would see the day,” he muttered, brushing away the tears.

Fíli frowned and stared down at the new boots his feet were shoved into. All of this was wrong. It should have been Thorin preparing for his coronation tomorrow, officially reclaiming his kingdom for all peoples of Middle Earth to see. Fíli should be in the background, with his brother at his side. His uncle should have been the one to survive the battle all those month ago, not him… not him…

Before Fíli knew it, he was on his knees, sobbing. Balin stood over him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “There, there, laddie… it will be alright…”

“No,” Fíli choked back a sob, “No, it won’t – it isn’t fair. This is all wrong. It should have been me, not Thorin… not… not Kíli…”

Balin sat down next to him, patting his back sympathetically. “You are right, Fíli. It isn’t fair. Perhaps Thorin and Kíli deserved to live, but alas, that was not their fate. Do not condemn yourself to death and judgment because you cannot see your own purpose.”

“And what purpose it that?” Fíli roughly.

“Erebor needs a king that has not fallen to the dragon sickness. Erebor needs a king that is willing to rebuild rather than tear down. You can be that king. Erebor needs you to be that king.”

Fíli took several deep breaths to calm himself before straightening. “So be it,” he said quietly. “I will strive to be a king worthy of Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – This chapter just kind of flowed and I'm proud to say I'm over a thousand words into the next chapter already! I'm really hoping to have it finalized for posting by the end of the weekend. I did use some verbiage from Bilbo's original contract for the conditions of alliance because I thought it would be fitting, especially if Balin was the one drafting it again. I also found a terrific source for Khuzdul (if you’d like the website, just ask me for it in the comment section) and I figured that I would use as much of it as I could!
> 
> Khuzdul Key:  
> Zann galikh – good night  
> Melhekh – king  
> Khuzsh - friend


	7. Chapter 7

The morning of Fíli’s coronation, he was up well before the sun had risen. He had slipped away from his chamber and up onto the outer parapets once again. He relished the cold Mountain air, greedily filling his lungs until his chest ached. He gently rubbed a hand over his wound, a constant reminder of what he had lost. He pulled a small knife from his boot and began to turn the blade between his fingers. He leaned back against the hard stone and closed his eyes. His fingers moved on their own accord, swiftly and surely rolling the sharp blade end of end.

With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine Kíli sitting beside him, whittling out a new arrow shaft.

“Big day, today,” Kíli remarked.

Fíli glanced to his side and eyed his brother, who was staring down the arrow shaft, taking note of any imperfections. “I guess,” Fíli muttered, tucking his arms behind his head and closing his eyes again.

“Come on,” Kíli said, thumping him on the chest. “It’s not every day your big brother wakes up and gets the whole weight of a Mountain dropped on his back.”

Fíli scowled at Kíli, rubbing his aching chest. “You have a way with words, you know,” he retorted.

Kíli shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he said, winking. “But what’s more, I can’t believe you haven’t told me that you’re getting married! I spilled my guts to you about Tauriel!”

He grimaced. “Yes, I recall…” His brother couldn’t get the red-haired elf out of his head and had told Fíli all about it, much to his chagrin. “I don’t know… Ma was upset that I didn’t tell her either. I just… never saw myself getting married, to be honest. I never took a particular fancy to anyone… but…”

Kíli’s smile stretch so wide that Fíli was sure it would split his face in two. “But she’s different, eh?” he chuckled, turning back to his arrow shaft. “Starting to see my way of things, huh, brother?”

Fíli remained silent for a moment. His stomach began to twist itself into a terrible knot. “I miss you,” he whispered, before casting a glance toward his brother.

But Kíli was gone.

Fíli ran a hand down his face, trying to regain his composer. That settled it – this whole business was driving him mad.

He leaned forward and pulled a knee to his chest. He stared out at the landscape to the south, noting how the approaching dawn was beginning to drive the deepest shadows to the west. He could see dotted caravans approaching the Mountain, eager to be part of the festivities.

He supposed he did feel like the weight of the Mountain was being placed upon his shoulder. He only hoped that Balin’s promise held true – that he alone would not bear this burden…

It wasn’t until the sun had fully risen over the distant Iron Hills and was steadily climbing in the sky that Fíli reluctantly climbed down from the rampart and descended into the heart of the Mountain to meet his destiny.

Dís was waiting for him in his sitting room when he arrived. Glóin’s wife stood behind her, brushing and plaiting sections of her long hair. Dís glanced up from her mending of golden chains as he entered the room. “A hot bath has been drawn for you. Better hurry along before it gets cold.”

Fíli nodded and trudged into his chamber, kicking off his boots and throwing his coat over the back of an arm chair. A large copper tub sat beside the fireplace, filled with steaming water. Fíli undressed and stepped into the hot bath.

The water felt like liquid fire across his chest and he hissed in pain. He held himself up, chest heaving above the water for a few moments, trying to acclimate to the scalding temperature. Gingerly, he slipped back into the water, slowly submerging his chest. He could feel his heart thump wildly and he drew in a few deep breaths to calm himself.

His body started to relax and he stretched out, finally beginning to enjoy the bath. He lay for several minutes with his eyes closed, wishing the day away. But knowing it was useless, he sighed and leaned over the copper edge of the tub, retrieving the soap and washcloth from inside a basin which sat on a nearby stool. Fíli unbraided his hair and carefully placed his beads upon the stool. With a deep breath, he sunk below the water and reemerged, shaking his hair from his face. He washed his hair and scrubbed at his scalp, realizing that it had probably been much too long since he had properly cleaned himself. He washed his face and neck with the soapy cloth and scrubbed his arms and legs until they were raw. He ran the cloth much more gently over his chest, tracing the thick and jagged scar that ran the length of his torso to his breast bone. He could feel several ribs that were slightly out-of-place, not having healed properly.

He pressed his hand over his heart and closed his eyes, feeling the steady thump under his palm. He sighed, then slipped back under the water and ran his fingers through his tangled hair to remove all lingering traces of soap. As the water began to grow tepid in temperature, he withdrew from the bath and toweled off, feeling renewed.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and surveyed the clothes laid out for him on his bed. He ran a finger along the familiar pattern stitched into the robes. His uncle had helped him develop his own unique set of symbols, meant only for him.  It was odd to see them upon a field of blue instead of his normal browns and grays.

He tamed his hair with a comb and began to braid his hair back into place. He was securing the beads when a knock sounded at the door. “Balin is here, Fíli,” Dis said, her voice slightly muffled.

He nodded, and then quickly realized that they couldn’t see him. “Come in,” he called.

Balin entered with Dori and Ori at his heels. “Big day, today,” he said brightly.

Fíli flinched inwardly as Balin repeated the words his brother had spoken to him earlier that morning. Not truly spoken, but still…

He greeted his companions and thanked Ori, who handed him a pint and some cram to break his fast. As he was chewing on the hard, doughy bread, he noticed that Dori was staring at him rather oddly. Suddenly, he realized that his scarred chest was bare. Balin and Ori had been with him for the majority of his recovery and even helped change his dressing from time to time; they were very familiar with the large, ugly scar across his chest. Dori, however, had not seen his wound before.

Fíli motioned Ori to follow him to the far side of the room. “Will you help me dress,” he asked quietly. “I don’t know if I can manage all of it on my own.”

“Of course!” Ori said and scrambled to the bedside to gather up Fíli’s garments. Ori helped him slip on a soft linen tunic with long sleeves while Fíli donned a thick pair of socks and dark gray woolen pants. Next, Ori laced up a thin leather doublet overtop which was placed the new chainmail that Balin had ordered to be made. Bracers which had been engraved with the Crest of Durin were laced over his forearms. While pieces of armor were not traditionally required for a coronation, Balin wanted to emphasize that Erebor’s new king as young, but battle-hardened. A long bluish-gray surcoat was laid atop the chain mail, with silver breastplate buckled firmly in place.

Fíli could already feel his chest protesting at the extra weight. Fur-trimmed robes were added to his shoulders, which were an exact replica to Thorin’s, only his symbols were embroidered in the fabric, not his uncle’s. To finish, Ori helped Fíli step into his new boots and laced them tight.

Finally dressed, Fíli turned toward Balin for approval. Balin examined him while Dori stood to his side, tears swelling up in his eyes.

Balin nodded and clapped Ori on the shoulder. “Nicely done, lad. Now go fetch the crown and make sure that Dáin has it before the ceremony begins.” Ori departed quickly with Dori following after him.

Dís stepped into the room, a bundle cradled in her arms. Her dark hair had been braided and coiled around the crown of her head. Threaded through her braid was a strand of thin gold chain that held a ruby tear-drop shaped gem suspended upon her brow. Her beard had been oiled and plaited straight down her chin. Her gown was royal blue with black and red patterns woven across the edges of the fabric.

Balin kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t you look lovely, Dís.”

She blushed and nodded in thanks, handing the wrappings to Balin.

Balin set the bundle onto a table and gestured for Fíli to join them. Curiously, Fíli gazed down at the package.

Balin carefully unwrapping the linen and pulled a set of daggers from the roll. “These are from Master Elrond of Rivendell. He sends his regrets that he could not attend your coronation, but sent you gifts and blessings.”

Fíli drew one of the blades from its small sheath. The steel was polished brightly and inscribed with Elfish. He turned the blade in his fingers, testing the balance, which he was delighted to find was solid in hand. “I owe him great thanks – not only for these gestures of good will, but also housing our company during our journey.”

Balin smiled up at Fíli and nodded. “Rightly so.” Fíli slipped a small blade into each of his bracers. Next, Balin presented Fíli with a set of throwing knives. “A present from the Iron Hills and your cousin, Dáin.”

Fíli grinned and pulled one of the slender knives to examine it. It was heavy, but sturdy for a thin blade, with runes cut into the hilt. He flipped it lightly end of end.

When he glanced up, Balin was smiling at him. “Check your boots, laddie.”

Looking down, he realized that his boots had several long slits running along the outside. Grinning, he slide the first throwing knife into the hidden sheath. Feeling the added weight of the knives at his wrists and ankles was strangely comforting and made he feel almost normal again.

“And one last thing,” Balin said, pulling twin swords from the last of the wrappings. “I had Dwalin search the battle field until he found your swords and we had them re-forged.”

Fíli ran his finger along the blade, feeling the sharpness of the new edge. Balin had kept the original design in the blades and hilts, for which Fíli was very grateful. These swords had been his father’s and he was sure that they had been damaged beyond repair on the battle field.

He caught Dís’ eye and his mother smiled sadly at him before stepping forward with a double scabbard. “My dear boy,” she whispered, stroking his cheek lovingly. “If only –“ she stopped herself, brushing away a tear. “Come now, they will be expecting you.”

Fíli carefully sheathed both swords into the double scabbard and set it on the table. After taking a deep breath, he took his mother’s extended hand and nodded. He was as ready now as he would ever be…

+++

Fíli’s coronation ceremony took place in the Hall of Kings. Thanks to the attempt to drown Smaug in molten metal, the floor of the great hall was covered in solid gold and flecks of gold could be seen spattered up the massive green marbled stone pillars.

As Fíli approached the entrance to the Hall of Kings, he could see that the great room was filled with people. Mostly dwarves, but men and elves as well.

Fíli drew in a deep breath, acutely aware of the aching pain that was blooming in his chest, and stepped from the passage way into the Hall. Every head turned toward him as horns bellowed long, heavy notes.

He walked slowly down the center aisle, feeling a thousand sets of eyes staring at him. Ori trailed behind him carrying Durin’s Hammer, for which Fíli was very glad – he could feel his chest beginning to grow tighter with each step and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe as he slowly marched down the long golden hall. He steeled himself to press forward, pulling from inner strength. _I will not faint… I will not faint…_

Finally, he reached the stairs of the dais. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, eyeing the few steps as if they were a mortal enemy.

Dís appeared at his side and offered him her arm and an encouraging smile. Fíli took it gratefully and together, they ascended the stairs. Dáin stepped forward, bowing low so that his red and white-streaked beard brushed the floor. Fíli returned the bow and then knelt on the floor.

“ _Melhekh_ ,” Dáin said quietly, before rising to address the crowd.

“Dwarrows of the 7 Kingdoms, Men of Dale, Elves of the Woodland Realm – welcome! Today is a day that we have dreamt of for a long time – a day that has been hard fought and come at a costly price. Today is the day in which the Line of Durin reclaims the Kingdom of Erebor. Today is the day the Erebor is made whole once more,” Dáin roared to thunderous applause from the dwarves.

Dís stepped forward, carrying the newly forged crown. The crown bore great resemblance to the crown that was now laid to rest on Thorin’s brow, but was thinner and lined in silver instead of gold. She handed the crown to her cousin, who raised it above his head for all to see.

“So that none may doubt Durin’s claim to the throne; so all peoples of Middle Earth may bear witness to this great moment. Fíli, son of Halvar, sister-son of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the great Line of Durin – do you swear to rule this mighty kingdom with a strong and fair hand, to serve its people justly and to protect them against all harms?

“I do,” Fíli said, thankful his voice held strong.

“ _M'imnu Durin_ ,” he said softly before placing the crown upon Fíli’s brow. “Then I crown you, Fíli, King Under the Mountain, King of Durin’s Folk,” Dáin declared in a booming voice. He once again bowed low, but this time, everyone else bowed alongside him. Ori quietly presented Durin’s Hammer to him on a bent knee. Fíli gripped it tightly before drawing in a deep breath and turning to face the crowd, the hammer raised above his head.

A loud cheer cried out and echoed around the great hall as hundreds of dwarves yelled and clapped and stamped their feet.

Fíli grinned at the sea of faces, letting the excitement wash over him for a few moments before the weight of the Mountain fell fully on his shoulders. How he wished Kíli was here beside him, laughing and hollering with the rest of them…

“The Line of Durin shall endure among these halls forevermore,” Dís proclaimed, tears in her eyes.  “Strong as stone. Deathless, eternal!” 

“Deathless, eternal!” the multitude of dwarves answered.

Fíli’s smile faded at the chanting. He carefully lowered the hammer and returned it to Ori. His chest was beginning to ache for true now; he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wear the armor before he had to sit.

Balin rose up next to Fíli and nodded to him. Fíli laid his hand upon Balin’s shoulder, both for comfort and support. “Fíli, King Under the Mountain, and Bard, King of Dale, have sworn an oath of alliance. They shall forge a lasting friendship between the great Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor and Dale, the city of man. This alliance shall call upon the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor to stand together in the face of all common enemies and to provide aid in times of hardship.”

Both men and dwarves cheered to the alliance. Fíli waited for a few moments, staring out across the hall. He took his time, drawing in deep breaths before speaking. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother approach him with Sigrid by her side.

“I, Fíli, of the Line of Durin, and newly appointed King Under the Mountain, shall secure the alliance between Erebor and Dale through the marriage of his lordship King Bard’s eldest daughter.” He turned toward Sigrid and extended his hand to her. She slipped her hand into his and stood beside him. Her face burned red, but she held her head high and her gaze level. “One year hence,” he announced, “She and I shall be bound together in marriage, uniting our two great peoples.”

A few scattered claps and cries rose out. For half a moment, Fíli feared for the worst. But the rest of the crowd soon joined in, too caught up in the excitement of the day to offer much protest.

Fíli squeezed Sigrid’s hand and she dipped her head to his. “Would you help me walk the length of the hall?” he asked. He placed his free hand on his chest, silently referring to his wound.

Sigrid smiled and nodded. “Of course, my king,” she said, slipping her arm through his. She allowed Fíli to lean on her as they descended the stairs and began the long walk down the Hall of Kings.

The crowd continued to roar around them and Fíli did his best to graciously thank and greet as many of the individuals as he could, but he knew that he had to get this bloody breastplate off before he passed out. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally withdrew into the passageway to the side of the hall. Fíli fell against the wall, panting heavily.

Sigrid knelt beside him nervously, her expression etched with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you in much pain?” she asked, still holding onto his arm.

Fíli tried to hold back a groan “No, not much –“ he glanced down at Sigrid, who stared at him, her eyes swimming with worry. He sighed and drew a hand over his tired eyes. “In truth, I think there is too much weight upon my chest right now. I don’t feel like I can breathe properly.”

“Then remove your armor, Fíli!” Sigrid said.

Fíli glanced down the corridor as Ori emerged, carrying Durin’s Hammer. He bowed to Fíli, beaming brightly. “My king!”

Fíli nodded, trying to draw in a breath. “Ori, would you mind?” he asked, raising an arm.

“Oh!” Ori blinked in surprise and rushed to Fíli’s side.

“To Balin’s rooms, I think,” Fíli said. “They’re only a few corridors away.”

Ori slipped Fíli’s arm over his shoulder and Sigrid followed suit. Ori lead them down several winding hallways before shoving open the door to Balin’s sitting room. He left Fíli to lean upon Sigrid while he drew up a chair, which Fíli gratefully sank into.

Ori unpinned the fur-lined robes from Fíli’s and then ran to find Óin and fetch water.  Fíli closed his eyes and leaned his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I over did it,” he muttered.

“Shhh,” Sigrid said softly, beginning to unbuckle his breast plate. “Just rest - you’re fine now.”

“I thought I was going to faint,” he admitted, already feeling some of the pressure ease as Sigrid made quick work of the leather straps.

“You clearly couldn’t take wearing a corset then,” she teased.

Fíli stared at her for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. She looked up from her work and smiled shyly at him from under her eyelashes. He let out a light laugh before sighing in relief as she peeled the breastplate off his chest.

“Better?” she asked, carefully setting the armor aside.

“Yes, much better. Thank you,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chest.

She softly touched the chainmail on his arm. “Is this not heavy to?” she asked.

Fíli shrugged. “Not as heavy as the breastplate.”

Sigrid frowned at him. “You shouldn’t strain yourself so much, Fíli – if it’s too great a weigh, take it off.”

“I can’t,” he said slowly.

Sigrid chewed on her lip, looking frustrated. “And why not?” Fíli was surprised at the demanding tone in her voice and how much it reminded him of his mother…

“ _I can’t_ ,” he repeated. “Ori helped dress me. It’s a bit painful to raise my arms over my head.”

She stared at him. “But you raised that great hammer in the hall!”

Fíli felt himself scowl at her. “Like I said. I over did it.”

He was surprised when she scowled back at him before kneeling beside him and beginning to unbuckle his belt.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, pushing her hands away and nearly falling off the chair.

“I’m helping you take off the chainmail,” she said firmly, reaching toward him.

He pushed her hands away again. “We’re not even supposed to be alone together! What if someone walked in and saw you _undressing_ me?! Your father would have my head!”

Sigrid stood suddenly and marched to the door. But instead of leaving, she pushed the door firmly shut and turned the lock. Fíli stared at her in horror. “There,” she said, kneeling beside him once again. “Now no one can walk in on us.”

“That’s not better!” Fíli said, staring to push her away again.

Sigrid grabbed Fíli’s hands and slid her fingers through his. He stared at her, his mouth half open in protest. “No one is going to walk in on us and nothing is going to happen. I’m helping my friend.” They stared at each other for a moment. “I’m helping my future husband,” she clarified softly.

Fíli struggled to swallow, his throat seeming to have gone try. Where was Ori when he needed him? After a long, lingering moment of silence, he nodded. “Ok,” he said quietly.

Sigrid nodded and helped him slip off his surcoat and belt. She tugged lightly at the chainmail on his shoulder before looking at him curiously. “How do I remove this?” she asked.

“I’ll raise my arms,” Fíli said, “and then you pull on the shoulders.”

After some struggle and a great deal of tugging, Sigrid managed to wrestle the chainmail off his shoulders. Fíli sucked in a deep breath of cold mountain air as the last constraining bit of clothing was freed from his chest.

Sigrid laughed at his relief and helped him back into his surcoat. He stared at her as she quickly threaded the leather cords, truly taking in her appearance for the first time that day. Her hair was braided and pulled into a knot at the back of her head. She wore a pale blue gown with silver vines embroidered on the matching corset. It was a simple dress, but suited her very well.

He caught Sigrid’s hand as she was finishing lacing his surcoat and tugged her toward him. “Thank you,” he said, “I know I can be stubborn –“

“Yes, you are,” she teased.

He smiled up at her. “Yes…”

She tentatively brushed her fingers over his temple to his braid and twisted it around her finger. They started at each other for a long moment and Fíli was certain the she could hear the pounding of his heart.

There was a loud bump against the door followed by Ori’s cry of surprise and pain. Sigrid jumped up and flung open the door. Ori had tumbled onto the floor after hitting the locked door and looked a bit dazed.

Sigrid helped Ori to his feet with an apology on her lips while Fíli quickly and painfully pulled his belt around his hips and buckled it in place.

“Óin sent herbs for the pain,” Ori said, rubbing his shoulder as he handed Fíli a small linen sack tied up with a bit of string. “He said to mix it with hot water and drink as if it were tea.”

Sigrid fetched a kettle from the cupboard which Ori filled with water from his leather flask. They set the kettle above the fire to boil and then Ori worked to pinned Fíli’s robe back into place.

Ori made sure that Fíli drank every last drop of the herbal remedy before allowing him to leave the room and return to the coronation festivities. There was to be a feast in the great dining hall and Fíli was sure that they were quite late. Although he felt like a great weight had been lifted from him, he still leaned on Ori for support as they walked down the hall, only straightened before they entered the hall. A cheer rose up as he made his way through the rows of tables to the raised platform where he was to dine.

Sigrid squeezed his hand before leaving to find her family in the crowd. He watched her go, weaving her way through the throng of men and dwarves. The elves, it seemed, had settled in the back of the room, observing the other races increasingly drunken state with a bit of distain.

All seven of the dwarrow houses were present to pay homage to the last surviving heir of Thror’s line. Dáin was seated on the dais beside Fíli with Dís, Balin, and Dwalin, all of whom belonged to the line of Durin and the Longbeards. Úri of Ered Luin of the Firebeards and Linnar of the Broadbeams, who shared distance relations, greeted Fíli with blessings and presented him with ruby-colored fire jewels. Thelór and Sindri of the Ironfist clans were cousins to Dáin on their mother’s side, their long gray beards that reached down to their knees were threaded with traces of red. They bent heads with Dáin for a long while, speaking in hushed voices. The Stiffbeards had sent two young dwarves, Bávor and Thulin, who raised their glasses to the new King Under the Mountain and became increasing belligerent as the feasting went on. Var, from the house of Blacklock, wore a massive, unkempt black beard and carried the same wild look in his dark eyes. He stood silently beside Barin of the Stonefoot Tribe, both eyeing the Woodland Elves with great unease.

Bombur and the other cooks had prepared a great feast of roasted mountain goat, salted pork, and smoked fish from the lake. Hard brown bread was accompanied with clotted cream and roasted root vegetables. Dried cherries and cheese were served last. Ale and wine flowed freely and an occasional fight broke out, usually instigated by one of the Stiffbeards.

Fíli watched, his eyes drifting back and forth over the rows of packed tables. Ori offered comments to him in hushed tones, pointing out facts about the various clans of dwarrow that he found interesting. To be honest, Fíli was only half listening.

Soon, a troupe of dwarves pulled out instruments and stuck up a cord. Tables were cleared from the center of the hall and stacked against the wall as several couples began to dance to the beat of a jig. Ori looked horrified and sunk back in his chair.

“ _Mahal_ save me, I’m never dancing again!” he declared.

Fíli laughed and clapped him on the back, taking a sip from his mug of ale.

With few dwarrow-dames residing at Erebor, the numbers for partners were a bit tipped, so many dwarves began to ask the wives and daughters of men for a dance or two. Fíli could see that Sigrid was dancing with her brother and sister, laughing as she spun Tilda around in a circle. He watched at his mother led Mister Dwalin into the center of the floor and smiled as they began to hop and skip in turn to the music. His mother looked happy, truly happy, as she twirled in Dwalin’s arms, the older dwarf gazing down at her in adoration.

Fíli leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chest. He was sure he would be in a great deal of pain tomorrow for the strain he had subjected himself to today. But it had been a good day. The coronation was over, the feast was a success and everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

The great hall began to grow warm, so the doors were thrown open to draw in cooler air from outside. Some in attendance ventured outside to the balconies, to smoke and drink. A tourney of had begun in the field outside the entrance of Erebor, organized by gamblers; wrestling rings were drawn up and axe tossing competitions were set, which greatly pleased the rowdy crowd.

Fíli followed Ori onto the veranda to watch the games below, the cheers of victory and cries of defeat echoing across the field as the living music flowed from the Mountain. Fíli and Ori filled their pipes with Bilbo’s leaf and leaned against the stone wall, blowing thin streams of smoke into the evening air.

He felt someone bump against his shoulder and knew before turning that it would be Sigrid. She mimicked their posture and leaned against the wall, gazing out over the field. Her cheeks were pink from dancing and her hair had begun to slip out of place, several strands falling about her face. She ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to smooth it back in place, and glanced at Fíli, smiling shyly. Fíli smiled back and lightly bumped his shoulder against hers.

To his surprise, she leaned into him, their hands resting so close together on the craved stone that they almost touched. Fíli fought the urge to flex his hand and feel her soft skin under his rough fingers. Instead, he withdrew his hand and began to pack more leaf into the bowl of his pipe.

“Did you have fun dancing?” he asked, his eyes on his pipe.

He could feel her watching him. “Yes,” she replied, tracing the silver veins in the marbled stone. “I like dancing with my brother and sister… but it would have been nice to take a turn with a more serious partner.”

Fíli nodded, spending an incredibly long time on such a simple task. “Didn’t anyone ask to stand up with you?”

“Well, yes…” she trailed off.

When she didn’t continue, Fíli glanced up at her.

“But I would have rather danced with you,” she admitted quietly, gazing back at him.

Fíli swallowed thickly and hurriedly cleared his throat. He shoved the steam of the pipe between his teeth only to find that he had smothered the embers. “Ori,” he muttered, “Light me, would you?”

Ori, oblivious to the growing tension between his companions, drew a lighting stick from the brazier next to him and lit Fíli’s pipe. After half a moment, Fíli brew out the flame and puffed on the pipe to feed the embers. Inhaling deeply, he released a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

Sigrid chewed on her bottom lip, watching him. “What is that?” she asked, her eyes on his pipe. “It smells… different…”

He examined the contents of his pipe. “This is leaf Mr. Bilbo gave us. Old Toby, I think he called it, from the Southfarthing.”

They stood in silence for a while as the night grew darker, people milling about around them, drunken shouts echoing in the field below. Figuring he owed her a response to her earlier statement, he turned to her. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her and her eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance.

Tentatively, he brushed a loose curl of hair from her cheek. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, unknown emotion brimming at the surface.

“When I am in better condition, I promise that I will dance – really dance, with you.”

A small smile tugged at her lips and she nodded. This time, he slid his hand over hers, stroking her fingers lightly and was pleased when she slipped her fingers between his. A pleasant warmth rushed up his arm and settled in the pit of his stomach. And Fíli was very glad to have her at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> M'imnu Durin – In Durin’s Name  
> Halvar – Norse for “Defender of the Rock”


	8. Chapter 8

For the next several weeks, Fíli was so busy that he hardly had a moment to himself. Balin had him attending meetings and counsels which seemed to be an endless parade of dwarves from every corner of Erebor and beyond, requesting favors or lodging complaints. Balin insisted that it was highly important that Fíli make himself available to his people, to hear their concerns with an open ear. His senior counselor also had him meet with each of the representative of the other six dwarrow kingdoms. Treaties, trade agreements and the like needed to be established with each clan to strengthen and elevate the influence of the line of Durin within the dwarven community once more.

Úri was easily won over and a trade agreement was swiftly secured with the Firebeards. Úri dwelled in the dwarven city of Belegost in Ered Luin, while his cousin, Linnar, lived south along the mountain range in Nogrod, both of which produced much silver and were known for their rare fire gems. Recently, traces of galvorn had also been discovered and the dwarves had been mining it heavily. Galvorn was a jet black metal which carried similar, but lesser, properties of mithril. The agreement was struck to trade Erebor gold and gems for silver, fire gems and galvorn. Fíli liked Úri and his cousin Linnar a great deal and bid them visit whenever they were in the area.

The Ironfists resided in the Grey Mountains and Dáin assisted in a smooth negotiation to establish trade between the Grey Mountains, the Ironhills and Erebor. Thelór and Sindri promised to supply Erebor with dwarven steel and iron to make weapons in return for emeralds and sapphires.

Bávor and Thulin’s folk lived in the far northern ridge of the Misty Mountains. The Stiffbeards were great miners of lead, coal, and copper. Fíli made arrangements to have coal shipped to both Dale and Erebor along with copper in exchange for gold and topaz from the Mountain and an abundance of salted fish from Dale. Fíli made sure to present the gift of a golden helm for Thulin’s father, the patriarch of the Stiffbeards, at the steady suggestion from Balin.

The southern White Mountains were home for Var, of the dwarven house of Blacklock. Treating with him proved to be quite difficult, as he was distrustful of the Elves and had not liked to find them at the coronation ceremony. After an exchange of many heated words, Fíli finally rose to his feet and slammed his fist upon the table, declaring the matter close. There would be no more discussion of the Longbeard’s relationship or dealings with the Elves from any realm and if Var didn’t like it, he could go back to the White Mountains empty-handed. Var grumbled a sting of obscenities under his breath, but reluctantly agreed to a treaty which would ferry more coal to Esgaroth. In addition to the Blacklock’s coal, Barin of the Stonefoot Tribe, consented to trade the crude diamonds they mined from the eastern White Mountains in exchange for other gems and precious metals.

Once all the dwarrow houses had been seen, Balin arranged for Fíli to tour the entirety of Erebor, from the peak watch tower to the deepest mine shaft. It was an excruciating task, which took over a week to accomplish and Óin finally had to tell Balin to allow Fíli a day or two of rest, as his chest was beginning to give him great discomfort and simply breathing was becoming a labored effort.

When Balin arranged for an envoy to Dale several weeks later, Fíli was extremely grateful. He relished the feeling of the fresh air on his cheeks as they rode their ponies into the city, the sun warming him to his very core.

To his disappointment, Sigrid was not present in court when they arrived. He had begun to miss her company and had been eagerly awaiting the trip to Dale. He patiently sat through the meeting with Bard, listening to Balin discuss the division of labor between Lake-town and Dale. Fíli voiced his concern over the lack of available wood in the area and Bard agreed that he would see to it that logs were brought down the river to be milled into building materials.

After their meeting with the king, Balin departed to visit several vendors he had appointments with, leaving Fíli to wander the courtyards of Girion’s Citadel by himself. The young trees that dotted the courtyards were blooming in earnest now, colorful petals opening to the sun while green leaves unfurled.

Fíli sat upon a bench beneath the shade of a cherry tree and closed his eyes. He could almost imagine that he was back in the Blue Mountains, napping in the shade of a great oak tree after he and Kíli had escaped their lessons to wander in the woods. He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps and saw that Bard’s youngest children were approaching. He sat up and smile as Tilda called out to him.

“Hello, Master Dwarf!” she cried, skipping toward him.

“Tilda,” Bain scolded, catching her arm. “He’s a king now – like Da. You have to address him proper.”

Fíli waved a dismissive hand. “You needn’t worry about that with me,” he reassured Tilda. “My! How you have grown! You’ll be taller than me before next summer!”

She blushed at the compliment. “Do you really think so?” she asked, her eyes sparkling like her sister’s.

Fíli nodded, grinning back at her. “Yes!” He paused and then asked after Sigrid.

“She in her lessons,” Bain replied, kicking at a loose bit of cobblestone.

“Lessons?”

Bain nodded. “Court lessons or something like that. Walda said that if Sigrid is to be a proper queen, she needs to be disciplined like one.”

A realization dawned on Fíli. “She should come to Erebor,” he said.

“What?” Bain asked, frowning at him.

Fíli nodded, glancing toward the Citadel. “Yes, if your sister is learning the lessons of court for man, that is all well and good, but she should also come to Erebor and Balin can teach her the culture of the dwarves and what life will be like in a dwarrow court.”

Tilda pulled on Fíli’s hand. “Can I come too?”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t see why not, as long as your da does not object. It would be good for you to get lessons in difference cultures.” He winked at Tilda and then glanced up at Bain. “Would you see that my invitation is extended to your sister?”

Bain stared at Fíli for a moment before nodding curtly. He bowed in farewell before taking Tilda’s hand and leading her from the gardens.

+++

Fíli wasn’t sure if Sigrid had received his invitation, but was delighted when she entered Balin’s study with Tilda in tow several days later. Sigrid dipped into a graceful curtsey before she took a seat opposite of him, smiling shyly from across the room. Tilda immediately skipped up to Fíli and dropped into a curtsey of her own. Fíli laughed at her enthusiasm and returned the formality with a low bow.

“Fíli, at your service,” he said, winking at her.

Tilda giggled. “Tilda, at yours, Master Dwarf.”

“King,” Sigrid corrected gently, pulling Tilda to her side. “Fíli is a king now.”

“King Dwarf,” Tilda said, smiling brightly at Fíli.

Fíli grinned back and settled into his chair once more. “That’s good enough for me, little princess.”

Tilda blushed and then took a seat next to Sigrid, swinging her legs as she curiously looked around Balin’s study.

Ori entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. He greeted Sigrid and Tilda fondly before pouring the hot tea. Ori had just finished serving them when Balin appeared from his chamber, carrying a great number of scrolls.

“Ah, Lady Sigrid… and Lady Tilda! How very nice to see you both again,” Balin said, bowing to them.

“Master Balin,” Sigrid greeted as Tilda sat grinning by her side. Fíli smiled at the child. What a sense of wonder she had about this whole business. How nice it was to be young and innocent and unmarked by the world…

Balin organized his papers before him on the table as Ori handed him a steaming cup of tea. After taking a sip, Balin settled into his arm chair and glanced at Sigrid.

“So, my dear, as you are well aware, Fíli thought it would be a good idea for you to supplement the court training you are receiving in Dale with lessons from the Mountain as well. And I couldn’t agree more. While it is important for you to learn the lessons of man, you are being crowned queen of a dwarrow kingdom and therefore should be well established in the common practices of our people.” Balin leaned forward and studied Tilda with a twinkle in his eye. “And I expect that you are here to join in the fun as well?”

Tilda nodded enthusiastically.

Balin clapped his hands together and nodded. “Very good then! Let us get started. For the first lesson, we will introduce you to the beginning of our history and the Seven Houses of the Dwarf Lords.” Balin unrolled a scroll and centered it on the table. Fíli positioned a heavy weight on the corner to hold the parchment in place.

“Our history starts from when our fathers awoke beneath the mountain. Our forefather, Durin I, settled the Kingdom of Moria, as men have named it. We call it _Khazad-dûm_. The folk of Durin stand apart from our brothers, as we are descendants of the first and greatest dwarf there ever was. Although we dwarves tend to keep to ourselves, we have become friendly with man, since his awakening, and we find hobbits particularly agreeable. Elves for another matter…” Balin shook his head, “well, there are many differing opinions on the Elves.”

 

“What is your opinion?” Sigrid asked carefully.

 Balin slowly smiled at her. “Ah, my dear… I have been around this Middle Earth for a long while and have seen many things. I have witnessed many different sides of all peoples – so I will not say that I believe all Elves to be mistrustful or all men to be cruel. I have enough wisdom about me to know that much. That being said, I must give you some warning about our people if you are to sit as their queen – dwarves are hearty and steadfast in loyalty… but it can be hard-fought to gain, so you mustn’t dismay if it takes a while for the dwarrow to warm up to you. We are secretive, which some can find disconcerting, and some have called us greedy or jealous as well… but that is only in cases concerning something that we strongly believe belongs to us. I’m sure that you will also soon bear witness to the fact that dwarves can be awfully stubborn if we set our mind about a thing. Very difficult to alter the mind of a dwarf. Counsel meetings can become quite the event when there is a differing of minds. But there are very few of us that ever succumb to real evil.”

Sigrid nodded, her face set in a very serious manner.

“Now, let us focus on something else for a while…. Perhaps life here at Erebor? Dwarves run a small household, especially compared to that of the Elves or even men. Fíli has been reluctant to make anything official, but you have probably noticed that Ori is usually present to wait upon Fíli, if needed. Let me show you around a bit of Erebor.”

Tilda eagerly followed behind Balin, staring in wonder at the silver fountains, carved stone figures and great halls as they passed by. Sigrid and Fíli followed more slowly after, Ori close to their side. Balin led them down a series of short staircases which descended into the kitchens. Bombur was bustling around the large room, barking out orders to the other cooks who were preparing the dinner for that night. Several goats were roasting on spits over the roaring fire beside large caldrons full of stock. Potatoes, turnips, carrots and onions were being chopping for the stew. Rough, brown bread was being baked in a large stone oven.

Ori made to sneak a sweet and was promptly hit across the knuckles with a wooden spoon. He glared at Bombur while he sucked at his sore fingers.

Bombur offered a bow as low as he dared. “ _Melhekh_ ,” he reverently addressed Fíli.

Fíli felt himself grow red. He internally scolded himself, knowing that he must get used to this sort of greeting. “Bombur,” he said, fighting the urge to bow in return. “You remember Lady Sigrid and her sister, Tilda?”

Bombur examined the two girls and then nodded. “Aye, I do indeed. Served a mighty fine porridge, if I remember true.”

Fíli laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You always do when it comes to food.”

“Bombur runs the kitchens here in the Mountain,” Balin said, his hand gesturing around the room. “He is the one who prepared the wonderful feast after Fíli’s coronation. Once we’ve had a full year’s harvest, I imagine that we will enjoy many fine meals.”

The plump dwarf grinned. “You can count on that!” he declared before turning to his instruct his cooks once more.

A short journey from the kitchens sat Ori’s chamber, which he shared with his brothers, Dori and Nori. Dori had taken up the role of head of household and was responsible for the handling all of the logistics concerning supplies. With trade agreements in place, he would now be able to order more stores and materials that the Mountain was in need of. They found Dori nestled in his office, which was filled with parchment and crystal quills, barrels of red wine and wheels of cheese, with dried flowers and herbs hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Dori glanced up from his glass of wine and smiled brightly upon seeing them.

“Good morrow!” he said cheerily. “Would you care for some wine? This one has a nice fruity bouquet…”

“No, thank you, Dori,” Balin said good-naturedly. “We’ve just come to show Lady Sigrid the household.”

Dori immediately dropped into a low bow, his purple robes sweeping across the stone floor. “An honor to see you again, Lady Sigrid – and Lady Tilda! My, how you have grown!”

“Fíli – King Fíli – thinks so too!” she replied happily. Tilda gaze curiously behind Dori at his decanter. “Might I try some of that fruity bouquet?”

“Not today, love,” Sigrid said gently. “Perhaps tonight, Da will allow you a taste at dinner.”

Crestfallen, Tilda nodded glumly.

They passed Dwalin on their way to the lower halls which led to the forges and mines. He nodded to their small party, grunting a rough greeting before continuing on his way. Tilda stared after him, wide-eyed.

Once they arrived in the lower chambers, Nori came out to greet them. He had worked in mines all across the mountains of Middle Earth and was the most knowledgeable in the management of production. Although Nori was known to have sticky fingers, he took this responsibility very seriously and kept close account of all his inventory.

Nori guided them through the exterior of the forges, where several dozen dwarves were hard at work, pounding and working metal into the desired objects. He sent a young dwarf called Valdir, who was apprenticing under one of his senior smithies, to fetch Bifur and Bofur, who were down in the mines.

Tilda cried out in joy when she saw Bofur and ran into his arms. Bofur laughed merrily as he swung Tilda around before setting her back on the ground. The dirt and grim covering his face cracked as he smiled brightly at them.

“What brings you down this far into the Mountain, little princess?” he asked, tapping her on the nose.

“Balin is showing us Erebor!” she exclaimed, clasping his hands in hers. “It’s so wonderful,” she breathed.

Bofur smiled. “Well, there’s still quite a bit of work to be done before we bring it back to its former glory. With Balin in charge, I don’t think much can go astray.”

“Now, Bofur,” Balin scolded, “flattery will not get you far with me.”

“But it’s always fun to try!” he declared, winking at Tilda. “Lady Sigrid, it is always a pleasure to see you!”

Sigrid smiled down at the dwarf whose arm was linked in her little sister’s. “Master Bofur,” she greeted fondly with a small bow. “And Master Bifur! How lovely to see you as well.”

Bifur grunted, tugging at his beard. “ _Idmi_ _k_ _huzsh,”_ he mumbled gruffly.

Sigrid glanced at Fíli, not understanding. “He said ‘ _Welcome friend’_ ,” he translated quietly.

“Oh.” She smiled back at Bifur, who seemed pleased.

Balin cleared his throat, glancing disapprovingly at Fíli. “Perhaps we should go up to the council chamber. There is a meeting scheduled shortly.”

Their small group followed Balin back up the winding staircases to the Great Chamber of Thror. Once they had entered the chamber, Fíli took his seat at the large stone table. Sigrid hesitated for a moment before sitting at Fíli’s side. He grinned at her and nodded reassuringly. This is how it would be once they were wed – it would be good for her to experience what a council would be like. She smiled shyly back, her cheeks flushed.

Members of the council Balin had assembled began to arrive. Fíli formally introduced them to Sigrid, each bowing in turn and pledging their service. Once everyone had gathered, Balin began the meeting and Sigrid quietly observed, only occasionally scolding Tilda softly for fidgeting too much or dropping a marble war marker on the floor.

Once the meeting was over, Balin dismissed them from any further lesson obligations. Ori suggested a game and Fíli consented. This entire day had been about exposing Sigrid to all aspects of dwarrow life and she might as well get used to Ori’s books and games.

Ori proudly led the way to Fíli’s sitting room and laid out the pieces of his board game upon the table. He painstakingly explained the rules of _fidhcheall_ to Sigrid and Tilda. Fíli reclined in his armchair, sharpening one of his blades against a whetstone and watching in amusement at Tilda’s confused express. Sigrid chewed on her lip nervously, her eyes intent on Ori as he pointed to each piece.

They attempted to play a set but Ori eventually gave up, as Tilda kept asking questions about each move played and Sigrid soon looked on the verge of tears from frustration. Ori sighed heavily before pushing the game away. “I have other games in my room – I can go get them.”

“I’ll go with you!” Tilda offered, gripping Ori’s hand. Ori looked uneasy, but nodded in agreement and lead her into the hall.

Fíli moved forward and caught Sigrid’s hand before she followed them from the room. She paused, glancing down at their linked hands. Fíli felt his stomach turn over as she slowly lifted her eyes to his face.

He swallowed thickly before drawing in a breath to speak. “I have something for you,” he said softly, pulling the small paper wrapping from his pocket. He turned her hand palm up and placed the package upon it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tracing the bit of red cord that held it together.

“Open it,” he urged, eager to see if it pleased her.

She carefully unwrapped the string and paper. Nestled within were four beads of rose gold which Fíli had crafted himself. Each bead had intricate runes carved into the soft metal. Sigrid rolled a bead between her fingers, the firelight shimmering off the polished surface.

“They’re courting beads,” he explained. Fíli watched her face intently, trying to read her expression. When she finally lifted her gaze back to his, he saw that her eyes were glistening with tears. He frowned and gently wiped a tear away as it trickled down her cheek. “What’s wrong, lass?”

Sigrid shook her head and smiled through the tears. “Nothing, I promise – they’re beautiful, truly –“

“But why are you crying?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not – only, these… this makes it so much more real.” She stroked the beads with her fingers. “How am I to wear them?” she asked curiously.

Fíli chewed on his lip for a moment, wondering if he should be so bold… “Do … do you want me to show you?”

Sigrid smiled at him and nodded. She sat on the floor, carefully folding her legs beneath her skirts as she handed the beads back to Fíli.

Fíli stared down at her for a moment before settled beside her on his knees. He pulled the pin from her hair and watched as it cascaded from the crown of her head to fall in waves around her shoulders. Sigrid blushed and picked at a loose stitch in her hem.

He tentatively pushed back a section of her hair, his fingers itching to weave themselves into her long tresses. Instead, he focused on the hair behind her left ear, parting it in three even sections before swiftly and smoothly braiding it into place. He secured the end with one of the small golden beads, his heart singing as he drew back to inspect his work. He repeated the action on her right side and then plaited another set of braids that intricately ran along the crown of her head. She waited patiently, glancing at him from under her eyelashes occasionally as he worked. When he was finished, he drew the rest of her hair into a simple bun at the base of her neck, pinning it back in place.

 “There,” Fíli said, satisfied with his work. He smiled at her as she traced the braids with her fingertips. “No lass has ever worn courting braids that looked so pretty.”

“You seem to think a lot of your own craftsmanship,” she commented.

He stared at her. “No, I didn’t mean that, I meant you…” Even as he spoke, he saw her bite her lip to keep from laughing. He suddenly very much wanted to take her lip between his…

Sigrid leaned forward, startling him slightly, and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered against his ear. “They’re beautiful.”

Fíli found that he was unable to respond and decided that perhaps it was for the best, as he did not trust his own voice at the moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly apologize for the delay in updating - I had a lot going on at home and work and I think life in general just got in the way. I struggled a bit with the flow of this chapter, but I think I finally struck a nice balance. I hope you enjoy! xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +++
> 
> A/N – Thank you so much for hanging in with me – I had *such* a hard time pulling this chapter together. I struggled so much with the pace and flow of the whole thing … but something I love about writing is that once you get into a zone, the story takes on a life of its own and takes you places that you didn’t expect. I know it took me a while, but I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> +++

Dáin returned to the Iron Hills shortly after the dwarrow from the other clans had departed. Dís decided to accompany him in order to visit her other relations and Dwalin dutifully went as her escort.

The days soon fell into a rhythm. Fíli would awake before dawn and sneak up to the battlements to greet daybreak alone. As he watched the sun rise, he would smoke his pipe and long for days long gone by. Soon after, Ori would come looking for him, to beckon him back inside to begin the day’s tasks. After breaking his fast, Fíli would first meet with Dori to discuss the household needs for the day. Dori coordinated with the kitchens to ensure that they had all the provisions they required for the daily meals and activities and would send a dwarfling to Dale if additional items were required.

Next, he would visit Nori down in the lower chambers and inquire after mining production and the clearing of additional mine shafts. Progress was slow and Nori was in need of more dwarves to assist in the construction. Fíli didn’t have any more workers to spare, as half of their stonemasons, metalworkers and craftsmen were already distributed between Dale and Lake-town. He hoped that the infrastructure of Lake-town would be finished before the beginning of fall, but knew that the damage done to Dale would take considerably more time to repair in full.

After his meeting with Nori, Fíli would meet with Balin in his chambers and his old teacher would lectured him on the traditions of the Mountain and read whatever correspondence had flown in from the Ravens. After luncheon, Balin would prepare for the daily council meeting. A few times a week, Sigrid would attend the meetings at Fíli’s side, and after, would stay for lessons of dwarven culture from Balin. More times than not, Tilda would accompany Sigrid, and on a few occasions, Bard and Bain even attended as well, although they usually left shortly after the council meeting had concluded.  

After dinner, Fíli would escape back up to the parapets to smoke. He would lean back against the smooth cold stone and blow smoke rings out into the night. During the short time in which the sun was setting, he often found himself talking to Kíli, sharing his struggles of the day and his hopes for the future. And even though he was well aware that he was almost certainly cracked, he didn’t care. He cherished those moments, because his brother helped keep him grounded. He would imagine how Kíli would joke or laugh at a given situation and the stress and tension would immediately melt away. Fíli knew that one day he would have to let Kíli go, but for now, he was content with holding onto his brother in any way he could.

The warm spring days quickly melted into a hot, sunny summer. Fíli escaped the shadow of the Mountain as often as he could to ride his pony along the Lake, hike the hidden paths along the foothills of Erebor, or wander into the sparse woods that led south toward the great plains of Rhovanian. Several times, Fíli lost track of time and missed a council meeting. He suspected that Balin wanted to throttle him when he returned, but instead, was given a very harsh talking-to by the snowy haired dwarf. In truth, it made Fíli feel more like himself – getting into mischief, having to deal with the consequences of an angry elder – it was almost like when he was younger, skipping lessons and getting into all sorts of trouble with his brother.

Fíli talked Óin into convincing Balin that outdoor recreation would do him good – the fresh air and exercise would help with his labored breathing and alleviate the pain that occasionally bloomed in his chest. Óin also gave him a small supply of valerian root to take with him, in case the pain ever became unbearable. Balin finally relented but insisted that Ori accompany Fíli on his excursions.

While neither particularly was thrilled at the forced companionship – Fíli wanted solitude and Ori had had his fill of the outdoors on their journey to Erebor - they worked it out among themselves. Fíli and Ori would leave the Mountain together, knowing that Balin was watching. Once they had reached a safe spot, Ori would hobble his pony and take out a book or his charcoal and parchment to sketch while Fíli made off on his own adventures. Fíli, not being entirely thick in the head, carried a small hunting horn with him to call for Ori, should he ever be in need of help.

Although Fíli had told Sigrid about his outings, he was still surprised to find her sitting beside Ori upon returning from a hard ride one day. Tilda was wading in the Lake while Sigrid watched her from the shore.

Sigrid smiled shyly at Fíli as he dismounted from his pony, hobbling the mount beside Ori’s.

“I didn’t think to see you today!” he said, drawing near, suddenly very aware of his dirty tunic.

Sigrid rose, brushing off her skirts. “Walda had other meetings to attend to today, so Tilda and I thought we’d surprise you.”

Fíli caught himself grinning up at her before composing himself. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be alone like this…”

Sigrid glanced at him with a sly look in her eye. "But we're not alone - Ori and Tilda are with us."

 

"You know what I mean… no proper chaperone about. If your Da knew..."

"My Da doesn't need to know everything I do." Sigrid's cheeks flushed red and she quickly averted her eyes to watch Tilda splashing through shallow pools.

Fíli stared at her. Who was this marvelous creature before him? He found himself grinning stupidly at her. “No,” he replied softly. “I don’t suppose he does.”

Sigrid gazed after her sister before turning to Fíli. “Would you like to go in?” she asked, gesturing toward the water. “I could show you how to catch crawfish.”

Tilda turned toward them with a splash. “Let me show you!” she cried, “I’m must faster than Sigrid is.” The young girl grinned up at Fíli eagerly.

Fíli glanced anxiously at the water. “Just along the shore, right?” he asked Sigrid.

She nodded, looking slightly puzzled as she tied up her skirts to keep them from getting wet. Fíli had to quickly avert his eyes to avoid staring and sat down on a large rock to remove his boots. He carefully set them aside and rolled the legs of his trousers so that they were securely folded up under his knees. Fíli looked up to see Sigrid standing beside him. She offer him her hand and helped him to his feet.

Tilda watched them expectantly, her eyes bright and cheeks pink from the sun. She caught Fíli’s hand and drew him further into the shallow water. He glanced back at Sigrid, who followed slowly behind them. She smiled kindly at him as Tilda began to eagerly explain how to catch crawfish. Tilda led them to a pool of water and crouched down, pointing out a rocks that the water-dwelling creatures were likely to hide beneath. She choose a rock and slowly lifted it. Several mud-colored crustaceans scuttled lazily about.

Tilda slowly lowered her hand into the water and plucked the largest crawfish from the shallows. Startled, the creature tried to pinch her with its claws. She smiled at it and held it out to Fíli. “Grab behind its pinchers,” she instructed.

Fíli gingerly took the crawfish and examined it. He had never seen one before and thought it looked quite strange. “How do you eat it?” he asked curiously.

“You boil them,” Tilda answered, checking under another rock. “Then you can eat them plain or in soup. Sigrid make the best soup,” she said, smiling up at her elder sister.

Fíli grinned at Sigrid until a nasty pinch to his hand made him cry out and drop the crawfish.

“Oh! You let him get away!” Tilda cried out in dismay.

He sucked on his throbbing finger, scowling down into the water. Sigrid chuckled softly as Tilda chased after the little creature. She took Fíli’s hand in hers to examine the offending injury. She tried to look concerned, but a small smile betrayed her. She gently drew his fingers to her lips and kissed the red mark. Fíli swallowed thickly, his voice suddenly caught in his throat.

They stared at one another for a long moment until Sigrid began to blush. She turned away, gazing out over the water. In the distance, they could see the ruin and construction of Lake-town.

“I hope to see it rebuilt by autumn,” Fíli said. “We’re working a very aggressive pace, but there is much to be done and our laborers are already divided.”

“We are very grateful,” Sigrid assured him, “for everything your people are doing for us.”

Fíli nodded and stared down into the cool water. “Would you… would you like to meet me here again?” he asked tentatively, quite certain that she could hear the pounding of his heart. “It’s nice to be outside sometimes, away from the duties of the Mountain…”

She smiled timidly at him. “Yes, I think I’d like that,” she quietly replied, much to his delight.

+++

Their little group began to meet upon occasion outside of the Mountain, when they can manage it.  Fíli and Sigrid would arrange their meetings in hushed voiced when Sigrid came to Erebor for the council meetings and Balin’s lessons. Most of the time, they would simply sit along the lakeshore with Ori, watching Tilda play in the water. Occasionally, Fíli and Sigrid would join Tilda in the shallow pools. When Sigrid found out that Fíli couldn’t swim, she laughed good-naturedly and offered to teach him but he declined, determined not to look the fool in front of her.

One hot day in the middle of summer, while Ori was lounging beneath the shade of a young pine tree and Tilda was searching for colorful stones in the shallows, Sigrid asked Fíli to walk with her into the foothills.

Fíli gestured for her to lead the way. He glanced back at Ori, who was busy sketching in his book. “We won’t be long, Ori.”

His friend looked up, surprised at being addressed. “Won’t be long…?”

“Keep an eye on Tilda, would you?” Sigrid called.

Ori stared after them, a bewildered expression in his eyes.

Fíli laughed at Sigrid’s persistent pull on his hand. “Where are you taking me, lass?” he asked curiously.

“To a very special place,” was her only reply, but she slowed to walk beside him and her fingers slipped into his.

They wondered down the path which slowly turned them back toward the Lonely Mountain. As they walked, Sigrid pointed out various plants that grew along the foothills, noting which were edible and how her mother had taught her to cook with what they could gather themselves. Young juniper shrubs sprouted along the path, small green berries clumped between needle-like leaves. Blue-sow-thistle grew well in rocky soil, she told him, and was a weed they fed to pigs in Lake-town.

She pointed out the black bearberry plant, whose fruit was just starting to turn a bright crimson red. She picked a few, explaining that when they ripened at the end of the summer, the bearberries would turn dark shades of purple and black. The berries were tart at this stage, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Purple heather, catchfly plants with pink petals, maroon helleborine, and yellow mountain bell-flowers dotted the hills, rising and falling with the rolling of the landscape. Bees buzzed happily about while wrens hopped and fluttered between the low shrubs. He could see Ravens against the clouds, delivering messages to and from Erebor.

“My mother used to bring Bain and me up here,” Sigrid explained softly as they walked. “We would gather up as many wildflowers as we could and hang them from the rafters in our home… After… I should have brought Tilda here … but… I just couldn’t…it was-” She frowned, her eyes beginning to swim with tears. “I’m sorry…”

Fíli brushed his fingers over her cheeks to wipe away her tears. “Don’t apologize – not all tears are evil,” he murmured, vaguely remembering Gandalf tell him that what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“No,” she agreed, drying her eyes on her sleeve and pressing on.

Sigrid led him up the winding path until the hills began to grow steeper and Fíli began to have a hard time catching his breath. At the top of one hill sat an old bower, leaning from age and the elements. It had been constructed from branches that had been woven to form a canopy. Moss had begun to grow along the bottom branches. Sigrid paused in front of it, staring forlornly.

“My mother is buried here,” she said quietly. “My Da built this after … so that we would have somewhere nice to go and talk with her.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “I haven’t visited this place in a very long time… too long a time…”

Fíli squeezed her hand, unsure of what comfort to offer.

She smiled sadly at him before turning back to gaze at the arbor. “I think I’ll pick some flowers for her,” she whispered.

“I’ll rest for a moment, if you don’t mind,” Fíli said and she nodded absentmindedly.

He sat beneath the old bower, watching as Sigrid waded out into the sea of wild grasses and began to gather flowers. As she bowed and bent to pick helleborine and bell-flowers, Fíli caught a flash of gold in her hair and smiled.

Once the aching in his lungs had abated, he walked about the bower, inspecting its integrity. It seemed sturdy enough, although he could tell that several harsh winters had taken its toll. He gathered up broken bits of branches and cleared away the weeds that had begun to grow along the ground. It felt good to dig in the earth and get his hands dirty. Sigrid appeared momentarily to lay an armful of flowers beside the bower before disappearing back into the grass. Fíli examined what she had gathered as he slowly lowered himself to the ground once again, rubbing his chest. He brushed the dirt from his hands as he started to weave a crown of starflowers from the chickweed.

Several armfuls of flowers later, Sigrid returned and sat down beside him, her cheeks flushed from the exercise. She gazed curiously at him as he continued to weave the flower stems together. She brushed loose hair from her face with the back of her hand and then began to do her own weaving of flowers into the bower.

Fíli soon joined her, working on the opposite side to thread the wild flowers through the branches that had been twisted into an arbor above their heads. When they were finally finished, they sat beneath a fragrant covering of purples, pinks, reds, whites and yellows.

Sigrid sighed happily as she settled back upon the ground, gazing up at the colorful canopy. Fíli sat beside her and brushed his hands over the rough spun fabric of his trousers, his fingers slightly sticky from the plants. As Sigrid gazed above, Fíli placed the floral crown upon her head.

A beautiful smile spread over Sigrid’s lips and she ran her fingers over the delicate petals. “Thank you,” she whispered before kissing Fíli’s cheek. She rested her head on his shoulder and they sat together as the sun slowly crept overhead, alone in their own secret world.

+++

When they finally returned to the lakeshore, Fíli noticed that Ori was visibly distraught, but the younger dwarf remained silent as their little group began the journey back to Dale. Once Tilda and Sigrid had disappeared within the city walls and the dwarves had turned toward Erebor, Fíli turned to Ori.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked gruffly.

“Balin came looking for you,” Ori replied, nervously adjusting his satchel on his shoulder. “I had no idea what to say, so I told him the truth of where you’d gone – which is to say, I didn’t know. He was not pleased.”

Fíli sighed and ran a hand across his brow. He might have expected this sooner or later. After they sent their ponies to the stables, Fíli clapped Ori on the shoulder. “I am sorry I put you in a tight spot. I swear to you, nothing dishonorable happened.”

Ori pursed his lips, considering Fíli for a moment before conceding. “I know,” he mumbled.

Fíli nodded and then steeled himself for the lecture he knew Balin would be giving him. “Might as well get it over with,” he grumbled, bidding Ori a good night.

As Fíli made his way down the corridor, the exhaustion of the day quickly began to settle upon him. He was at the elder’s door before he quite realized it and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking on the thick oaken door. Balin answered and beckoned him inside. Once Balin had closed and latched the door to his quarters, he proceeded to pour them both cups of tea. Fíli took a seat in one of Balin’s oversized arm chairs and studied his teacher as he was passed a cup. He carefully sipped at the hot liquid and waited for the lecture to begin.

Balin, however, did not speak right away. Instead, he lit his pipe and sipped his tea absentmindedly, not seeming to have a care in the world.

As the time ticked by, Fíli became more uneasy. He was used to harsh scoldings as a dwarfling from his mother, his uncle, Dwalin, even Balin on occasion. The anger and cursing, he could handle, but the silence was making him incredibly tense and troubled.

Finally, Balin rose to retrieve more pipe weed from his cabinet. While he was packing his pipe, he glanced over at the young monarch. “Well laddie,” he said evenly. “I suppose you’d better explain yourself.”

Fíli felt his face grow red. “There’s nothing to explain,” he responded stubbornly.

Balin’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed. “I would say otherwise.” He lit his pipe anew and took a deep pull before releasing a thin stream of smoke into the air. “What if her father had come to look for her, only to discover that she had gone off with the lad whom she was betrothed to, but not yet wedded to? Do you not think he would be concerned?”

Fíli scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I swear to you, Balin – nothing dishonorable happened.”

“Very well. If that is so, tell me where you went with the princess.”

The two dwarves stared at each other, their gaze unyielding. Finally Fíli sighed and sunk into his chair. “She took me to her mother’s grave,” he said in a low voice.

Balin looked slightly surprised. “Well,” he mused softly, puffing on his pipe.

“Her father built an arbor atop a hill below the Mountain. That’s where we went.”

Balin nodded thoughtfully, tugging at his beard. “I can’t fault her for wanting to share that – you both having lost a parent at such a young age…”

Fíli studied the old dwarf, tapping on his tea cup. “You understand then?” he asked.

“Be that as it may,” Balin said, reclining in his armchair, “I don’t believe Bard would be as understanding. You have to take better care, Fíli. You may be promised to Sigrid, but if Bard finds out that you’ve been sneaking off alone with his daughter, you’ll have the archers of Dale upon you in a moment and any progress that we have made in mending relations will be torn apart.”

He frowned. “So… you’re not forbidding me to see her?”

The snowy haired dwarf laughed. “It’s hardly my place to forbid a king to do anything. I am here to provide you with guidance and wise counsel. If you say that nothing dishonorable happened, then I believe you. All I am advising is that you be cautious and aware of the risks that may befall if her father were to gain knowledge of your meetings outside the supervision of Dale and Erebor. Not everyone is pleased with the union.”

Fíli felt his stomach drop. “What do you mean?”

Balin shook his head. “I mean exactly as I said. Not everyone looks upon your match with a friendly eye.”

“I have not –“

“Of course you haven’t heard a word of this. Who would voice such a thing to their king? I only mention this as a word of counsel and warning.”

Fíli sighed heavily. “What would you propose I do?”

“Continue your outings – the exercise has truly done you good – but do not wander off alone together.”

“Am I never to spend a moment alone with Sigrid before we marry?” he asked angrily. “I’m trying to get to know my wife before we wed.”

Balin leaned forward and patted his knee in a comforting fashion. “And that is very good, my king, but discretion would also serve you well.”

Fíli wasn’t sure he entirely agreed, but he nodded glumly, knowing that Balin was giving him sound counsel.

+++

The next few days were quite busy with counsel meetings and appointments. Fíli hardly had a moment to ponder what had transpired, but when he did, he felt himself grow vexed once more.

When the day came for Sigrid to come to Erebor for her usual lessons with Balin, Fíli kept his distance, suddenly unsure how to approach her. The thought that they were being watched by unfriendly eyes had unnerved him. He could feel her glancing at him from time to time during the council meeting, but he kept his focus away from her.

He knew that she was growing concerned at his silence and he felt all the more a fool because of it. He began to grow quite angry at himself, but was at a loss of how to proceed. After the council meeting, they retired to Balin’s chambers for Sigrid’s lessons in dwarrow history. While reviewing the history of the First Age, she suddenly set down the large volume and turned to Balin.

“What are dwarven marriages like?” she asked curiously. Fíli choked on his ale.

Balin blinked at her in surprise. “Well… I… yes, yes, of course I suppose you would want to know…”

“I do,” she said firmly, her gaze not straying from the old teacher.

Balin glanced uneasily at Fíli. “Perhaps this is something that your mother could address when she returns next month from the Iron Hills.”

“I’m sure she’d be very pleased to,” Fíli agreed.

Sigrid glanced angrily at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Tell me, my king,” she said curtly, “am I to expect you to ignore me when I haven’t any idea what I have done to offend you?”

Fíli stared at her. He had never seen her angry before. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck as embarrassment washed over him. “Sigrid,” he began, reaching for her hand. She pulled away, the hurt finally showing on her face.

Balin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I think I’ll look in my library to see if I can find any material on our domestic philosophy,” he muttered before slipping hastily from the room.

Sigrid stared down at the old manuscript, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Sigrid,” he repeated softly, tentatively touching her shoulder.

She bit her lip, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t understand,” she finally whispered.

Fíli slipped a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he gently cupped her face. “I am a fool,” he said. “Balin – no, there is no excuse. I am sorry that I hurt you, Sigrid. I’ve been too worried about what others think when it does not matter.”

Her brow furrowed. “What has someone said?”

“Nothing, at least not to my face. Balin just pointed out to me that not everyone may be pleased… with us.” He brushed his thumb across her freckled cheek. “I don’t think… I couldn’t stand it if … something were to take you away from me.”

A little smile touched her lips. “Is that what you are worried about?” she whispered. She gently took one of his rough hands between hers. “Walda would have me marry the grandson of the Steward of Gondor – she was quite outspoken about it. But it does not matter what she thinks.”

Fíli frowned slightly. “Steward of Gondor”

She chuckled and leaned into him. “The grandson of the Steward of Gondor,” she corrected.

He huffed irritably at the idea of Sigrid with someone else and drew her close to him.

She timidly laced her fingers through his. “Does being king ever scare you?” she asked softly, resting her head upon his shoulder.

He scratched his chin and gazed down at her, thankful that she had so easily forgiven his foolish behavior. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I often feel overwhelmed with it all. When I sit in the council meetings, sometimes I feel so young and foolish. But I have Balin to guide me, which is a great comfort. And my mother, who is never afraid to speak her piece. And… and you. You give me courage, Sigrid… You make me believe that I could be a good king.”

She turned her head and pressed a chaste kiss into his shoulder. “I know that you will be a great king.”

Fíli swallowed thickly. “And how do you know that?” he asked quietly.

“Because you know what it is like to suffer. You’ve known both great loss and great victory. You are kind and clever… perhaps a bit stubborn, but you know when you are wrong and are not afraid to apologize. You know your limits and can look to others for guidance. That’s how I know.”

Fíli turned to gaze at Sigrid. She pulled away for a moment and sat back, looking back at him. Her hair tumbled into her eyes and before he could stop himself, Fíli reached forward and brushed her hair back. His hands slid back into her loose hair, his fingers finding the braids behind her ears.

He felt her hands slide up his arms and grip his wrists lightly. Fíli allowed himself a moment, trying to compose himself as he gently ran his fingers along her braids. Golden light caught his eye.

Sigrid smiled shyly at him. “I always wear them,” she said as Fíli twisted the thin bead between his fingers. His golden courting bead. A visible symbol of their pledge.

Hesitantly, she stretched out a hand and trailed her fingers down his beard. She nervously raised her stormy blue eyes to his, her cheeks now blushing a deep scarlet. He caught her hand in his own, threading their fingers together.

Sigrid stared at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. For a moment they stared at each other, neither moving. And then Sigrid leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his. He gently kissed her back, his free hand slipping into her hair again.

After a moment, she pulled back, her lips still slightly parted and her eyes bright. Fíli grinned at her, his heart swelling with adoration. He found that he was in love with the girl before him, not having quite recognized the feelings that had slowly but surely made him completely hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +++ Additional A/N +++
> 
> 1\. Yes, her governess would have Sigrid go with the Steward of Gondor’s grandson… who happens to be Denethor II, son of Ecthelion II, son of Turgon, who was the Steward of Gondor in 2941 of the Third Age. Thank God she’s dodged that bullet    
> 2\. I love the line from John Green’s The Faults in Our Stars “I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once” – I imagine that’s how it would be for Fíli, to slowly get to know Sigrid and build on a relationship through mutual past experience and sudden find himself very much in love with her


	10. Chapter 10

Fíli greeted his mother at the Grand Entrance to Erebor when her company returned to the Mountain. Dís wearily removed her weather-stained hood and kissed her son.

"How have things held together in my absence?" she asked lightly, smiling up at him.

"Balin has been doing a splendid job at making sure things don't fall apart," he replied cheekily.

Dís laughed. "Accompany me to my chamber. I've had a long journey and I'd like to have a drink with my son." She threw her arm around Fíli as they walked. "Tamar, please have a barrel of ale brought up to my quarters."

Her servant bowed and hurried down to the kitchens.

Once they reached the dwarrow-dame's rooms, Dís removed her traveling cloak and rung it on a peg near the door. She settled into an arm chair wearily while Fíli poked at the fire to bring the embers to life.

"We had a pack of orcs following us for two days while we were in the wastelands," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "We had to double our pace just to keep them off. By _Mahal,_ am I tired.”

"If you need rest, I can return tomorrow, Mother," Fíli said, rising from the fireplace as the embers began to spark on the fresh kindling.

"No, don't be foolish," Dís scolded, propping her feet upon a cushion. "Sit," she insisted.

Fíli took an armchair opposite his mother. A knock sounded at the door and Dís call for them to enter. Tamar appeared, carrying with her a large platter of hard cheese, smoked meats, and dried fruit. She placed it on a small table between the two sitting chairs.

"Gunnar is fetching the ale. He should be here shortly."

"Very good – thank you, Tamar," Dís sighed. "I think I will want a bath before I go to bed - I need to wash some of this dirt off."

Tamar nodded and vanished through the door to retrieve hot water for the tub.

Dís skewered a large piece of cheese with her knife and began to eat. "Tell me what Balin has been training you in since I have been away."

"He's just been re-teaching me dwarven history. He asks me to recite the genealogy of Durin's Line quite often - I swear, I could say it in my sleep! And he is having me analyze each dwarrow king - what their greatest achievements were, what their weaknesses were and how they might have acted differently in situations. I feel as if I am a dwarfling in lessons again!"

“Ah, but what good lessons they must be,” Dís mused. She stabbed another piece of cheese with her knife. "And what of your bride-to-be?" Dís asked slyly, glancing at her son.

"What about her?" Fíli asked slowly.

"How do you think she will take the transition into our world?"

"I think she will handle it well, especially since she is already becoming familiar with the Mountain and how things are run here. I imagine it will be difficult to be away from her family, but they are close by if she were ever to want to see them." Fíli paused, eying his mother. "She... she would like to speak with you."

"Oh?" Dís nibbled on a dried pear.

Fíli's fingers twitched in a nervous tick and he sorely wished he had brought his blades with him. "She has... some questions that I fear neither Balin nor I could answer..."

A small smile crept across Dís' face.

"Balin suggested that she speak with you because... well, you have been married..."

The smile on Dís' face widened until she began to chuckle. "Very well, I will speak with her."

Fíli nodded. "Thank you."

"But I'll be speaking to her privately." Fíli began to protest, but Dís cut him off this a wave of her hand. "I won't hear another word about it."

There was another knock at the door and Fíli jumped up to open the door. Dwalin ducked through the doorway, a barrel of ale hoisted upon his broad shoulders. A dwarfling trailed behind him dragging a barrel stand which causing him to stumble. He positioned the stand on the ground and Dwalin settled the large barrel into its cradle. The dwarfling glanced nervously at Fíli and bowed low, his nose almost touching the ground. " _Melhekh_ ," he whispered, bowing his way out of the chamber.

Dwalin snorted, scowling after the youngster. He poured a mug of ale and handed it to Dís, who took it gratefully.

Dís took a long draw from the mug and then sighed happily. "There is nothing in the world as enjoyable as sitting next to a warm fire, with food and drink in hand, surrounded by those you love after a hard journey," she mused.

 Fíli glanced sideways at the large warrior. Although his back was turned, Fíli could see that Dwalin's good ear had turned bright pink.  

Dwalin gruffly cleared his throat before settling on a stout stool between Dís and Fíli. He rested his arms on his knees and kept his eyes on his ale.

Dís simply smiled and Fíli was left to ponder what had grown between them.

+++

"My mother has returned from the Iron Hills," Fíli told Sigrid as they walked along the lakeshore one hot afternoon. Tilda ran ahead of them, gathering pretty colored stones.

"Did she have a pleasant journey?" she asked.

"Well, she’s happy to be back," Fíli said, stopping to skip a stone across the water. "She... she would like to see you next time you are at the Mountain."

Sigrid stopped, blushing fiercely. "Oh," she said quietly as she tugged on the hem of her patterned vest, "Yes, I would like to speak with her."

Fíli skipped another stone. "It's settled then. After the next council meeting, I'll take you to see my mother."

+++

After the council meeting, Fíli escorted Sigrid to his mother's chambers. Sigrid had taken extra care in the braiding of her hair that day. In the cascade of curls that had been swept to her left shoulder, Fíli was pleased to see the rosy glimmer of his beads. Before he knocked on his mother’s door, he paused and took Sigrid’s hand. "Just... when dealing with my mother, it's always best to be direct. She will appreciate that."

Sigrid nodded, her face paling slightly. She nervously smoothed out her pale gray skirts.

Fíli squeezed her hand as he knocked on the door. "Don't worry, I'll be right down the hall."

He dropped her hand as the door swung open and Dís appeared before them. Her hair was twisted and pinned high upon her head and she had smoothed and plated her beard into a single braid. She smiled warmly at Sigrid and beckoned her inside, her crimson robes rippling around her.

As soon as Sigrid stepped across the threshold, Dís promptly shut the door and Fíli was left staring at the large oak door.

Fíli retreated to Ori's room and sunk down into a worn armchair beside the small fireplace. Ori was busy entering figures into one of Balin's large leather-bond ledgers, his quill scratching across the parchment at impressive speeds. Fíli sighed and threw a leg over the armrest as he drew a throwing knife from his boot. Aiming lazily, he flicked his wrist and launched the knife into the wooden mantel above the kindling fire.

Ori glanced up from his work. "Oi!" he muttered, scowling at Fíli, "mind you don't break anything."

Fíli smirked at him. "Come on now, you know my aim is superb." He sent another knife flying into the top of a crate.

"That's Dori's wine crate - if you nick anything, you'll have to answer to him on that," Ori said, returning to the ledger.

Fíli glanced over at his friend. Feeling mischievous, he aimed for a knot within the wood on Ori's desk.

Ori jumped as the knife firmly met its mark, nearly upsetting his ink bottle. "Out!" he squeaked, his face a severe shade of maroon. He released a shaky breath. "I mean... I'm sorry, but… Fíli - I can't work with you throwing knives about."

Fíli summersaulted out of the chair and retrieved his knives "Don't apologize - I'll leave you in peace." He clapped Ori on the shoulder and let himself out.

Fíli wasn't sure where to go, not wanting to stray too far from his mother's room. He paced the halls for a while, spinning a thin blade between his fingers.

Dwalin came passing through an adjoining hallway and paused before turning and approaching Fíli. He nodded toward Dís’ door. “Is your lass in there with her now?” he asked, adjusting his knuckle-dusters.

“Yes,” Fíli muttered, spinning his knife between his fingers.

Dwalin watched him for a moment before leaning against the wall beside him. “That nervous, are you?”

Fíli shrugged. “I have no idea what they’re talking about. And it’s my mother, so of course I’m nervous.”

Dwalin chuckled. “Aye,” he agreed quietly. He eyed Fíli’s knife again. “Glad to see you kept it up.”

Fíli nodded, stilling the knife in his hand. “It’s more of a reflex now.”

“How’s your aim? Haven’t gotten rusty now, have you?”

The young king smirked at the jape. “Tell that to Ori’s desk.”

Dwalin fumbled through a leather pouch on his hip and pulled out several walnuts. He held up the nut for Fíli to see before tossing it into the air.

A quick flick of Fíli’s wrist sent the knife straight through the walnut’s thick shell, splitting it in two. Dwalin’s low laugh rumbled through the hall. Fíli drew another knife from his boot, watching Dwalin expectantly and a game had soon begun.

Fíli laughed at he retrieved his knives and the bits of shell from the ground. He poured a handful of split nuts into Dwalin’s outstretched hand before re-sheathing his throwing knives in their various hidden places on his person. The older dwarf picked the meat from a shell and popped it into his mouth. Dwalin slapped Fíli on the shoulder. “Don’t fret too much – your mother is a good dame; she’ll go easy on the lass.”

Fíli nodded and then eyed the larger warrior. “So… you and my mother, eh?”

The older dwarf visibly paled. Dwalin’s friendly mood vanished and he scowled down at the young king. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he bowed stiffly and turned on his heels, quickly disappearing down an adjoining corridor.

An hour later, Fíli had almost nodded off when his mother’s door creaked open. Dís stepped out into the hallway and nearly tripped over her son.

“Come inside,” she sighed, motioning him through the door.

Fíli stepped into the dim room.

Sigrid was seated upon a cushion on the floor next the fire. She smiled shyly at Fíli as he approached.

He glanced at his mother, who pretended not to notice. “Sit,” she instructed.

Fíli sat opposite Sigrid on a low foot stool. Dís rummaged about in a side cupboard before placing a tea kettle above the fire to boil.

“I have to fetch some tea,” Dís said absently as she disappeared into the small pantry adjoining her room.

Sigrid stared at Fíli until he felt compelled to withdraw his own gaze. “How did it go?” he asked, staring at his hands.

“It was nice to be able to speak to someone like you would a mother,” she said softly. Fíli glanced up at her, slightly confused. Her cheeks flushed red and this time, it was Sigird who averted her gaze. “I mean… well… for me… there are some things that can be awkward to speak to my father about…”

Fíli stared blankly at her.

Her blush deepened as she stared back at him. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before starting to speak again. But once she did, Dís reappeared from the pantry with a tin full of loose leaf tea and Sigrid lowered her gaze, blushing more fiercely than ever.

Dís handed Sigrid the tin of tea and settled into her arm chair. Sigrid tied up the loose leaves into small squares of clothes and arranged them in the tea cups before carefully pouring the boiling water. She passed a cup to both Fíli and Dís and then sat back on her cushion, starting down into her own cup.

Dís took a sip of tea and then looked over at Fíli. “Sigrid and I have been speaking about what is expected for a dwarven wedding. She would like to follow some of the customs of her forefathers as well, which I think is only fitting.”

Fíli nodded in agreement. It only seemed fair to observe both their people’s traditions.

“Many of our customs are not shared with the outside world, so I believe the marriage ceremony itself should be a small affair. The celebration after may be a public event. Sigrid informed me that it is common for the wedding festivities of her people to last several days… even up to a week’s time.”

Fíli laughed in amusement. “That long?” he asked.

Sigrid blushed. “Three days is normal. When the Master got married to his third wife, the celebration lasted eight days.

Fíli almost choked on his tea. “Third wife?”

“His first wife died in childbirth, along with the babe. I remember a little of his second wife – she died of pneumonia when I was five. The Master married his third wife when I was seven, but she was from the south and I don’t think she realized what she had gotten herself into. We were told that she went to summer in the Bay of Belfalas a few months after they wed, but she never returned.”

Dís pulled out her pipe and began to pack the bowl with pipe weed. “How odd,” she murmured, before lighting her pipe and blowing a thin curl of smoke into the air. “No matter,” she said dismissively, “three days it will be. Now, sweetling,” Dís turned, addressing Sigrid, “do you consent to the wedding ceremony being a private occasion? You may, of course, have your family in attendance, but we dwarves do not take to sharing our secrets lightly.”

“Of course,” Sigrid replied softly. “I understand.”

Dís nodded, pleased. “Very good. The vows can be spoken beneath the Mountain and then other festivities can be arranged in the Great Hall and in Dale. Three full days, is it? Oh my… we’ve much to do… The months will fly by and it will be spring again before we know it.”

As Dís chatted away about all of the arrangements to be made, Fíli cast a glance at Sigrid. She was staring into her tea cup, but she slowly raised her eyes to meet his. Her smile warmed his heart and he knew the spring could not come quickly enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the delay. I thought I was going to be able to post this chapter quickly, but some things got into my head and I got very disheartened. I’ve been dealing with a lot of stress at home and work and writing is usually an escape for me, but I’ve been in a bit of a funk for the past month and for that I do apologize.   
> When I was on Tumblr the other day, I saw a quote about writing – it said: “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.” – Anne Lamott  
> It really spoke to me. Writers block has always been a challenge for me. I love to write when the words just flow, but get frustrated when I get stuck. So I started, I tried, and I hope I provided you with a decent chapter. 
> 
> “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart” – William Wordsworth


	11. Chapter 11

Dís had begun to make the arrangements for the dwarven marriage ceremony, causing a great stir of excitement under the Mountain. Balin was in full agreement with the dwarrow-dame that the ceremony should be a small affair for the privacy of the families, butseemed quite pleased that the wedding festivities would last for several daysafter in Dale.The white-hair dwarf spent several hours questioning Sigrid about her people’s marriage traditions and reminiscing about the wedding feasts in Dale that he remembered from his youth. Fíli couldn’t help but grin as Sigrid sat listening to Balin, enraptured by the stories of a time before even her father was born.

Much of the time that Fíli would have spent with Sigrid while she was at Erebor was now taken up by his mother. Sigrid seldom accompanied him to Council meetings anymore, as Dís commanded her time with wedding preparations. Dís had Ónar deliver luxurious fabrics from Dale for Sigrid to select the material for her wedding gown. It was a dwarven custom that brides were to sow their own wedding gowns and Dís was insistent that as many traditions be upheld as possible. Most of Sigrid’s time was now spent sowing in Dís’ chambers while the dwarrow-dame ordered about dwarves and men alike. Tilda accompanied Sigrid on several occasions to assist her with the sowing and embroidery of the gown.

At one point, Fíli pulled Sigrid aside and told her not to let his mother push her around. She laughed and shook her head, smiling. “Oh, I don’t mind, really – it’s just so wonderful to have a mother telling me what to do again.”

She bent to kiss his cheek and then disappeared down the hallway toward his mother’s room. Fíli did not see Sigrid again for the rest of the week.

Fíli honestly didn’t know how Sigrid kept everything straight. Not only was she helping his mother with the preparations at Erebor, she was also handling all of the arrangements that were to take place at Dale. She had several meetings with various merchants and tradesmen that wanted to contribute to the wedding festival in one way or another. When Sigrid wasn’t busy settling deals with the local merchants, she was almost always being occupied by Dís and truthfully, it was beginning to annoy Fíli. He had become used to her presence and her absence weighed on him.

Balin’s strict schedule helped keep him preoccupied so as not to drive himself mad. Now, in addition to his regular meetings and Council sessions, Fíli was expected to oversee the expansion of his current living quarters in preparation for his marriage. A wall to the adjoining set of chambers was to be knocked down and cleared to create a larger living space for the King Under the Mountain and his bride-to-be. Ori had helped him design a wide archway which left two strong pillars for support, but opened the space considerably. Nori was helping him with the cutting and clearing of stone. Bofur and Bifur also assisted in this effort when they could spare the time. Fíli was very grateful for their help, knowing that it would have taken him ages to accomplish on his own. Both Ori and Dori had volunteered to assist in the decoration and furnishing of the chambers upon its completion and were busy scheduling appointments with carpenters and woodworkers to order various pieces.

+++

Toward the end of summer, Bradham, the chief builder, invited Fíli and the Dwarven Council to review the progress of the construction at Lake-town. On the day of the scheduled inspection, the workers were granted the day off – their first in several weeks - which allowed the Council to tour the site without getting in the way of their labors. Sigrid accompanied the dwarves, not just to act as a liaison, but also because she was very curious to see the rebuilding efforts. Tate escorted Sigrid with instructions from King Bard to bring back a full report on the progress of Lake-town.

Bradham led them down the new bridge, which now was laid of a stone base, and remarked on the great craftsmanship of the stonemasons who had painstakingly worked so hard to build an enduring port for ages to come. The foundation of Lake-town was constructed in a similar fashion, utilizing stone from the Mountain, much of which had been gathered from the clearing of collapsed tunnels and halls. Wooden framework for buildings had begun to be erected and Bradham assured Balin that all of the buildings would be finished by the end of autumn. At the moment, though, it appeared that a skeletal forest had begun to rise up out of the lake. Most of the woodwork was in the beginning stages and the buildings mainly consisted of posts and rafters.

The Council seemed very pleased with the stone foundation and murmurs of approval could be heard as they were guided through the intricate groundwork. At a particular juncture, Fíli noticed that Sigrid had stopped. He found himself wondering what she must be feeling inside, to come back to the Lake where she had grown up and find it a strange, unfamiliar place. He fell back and watched her for several moments before venturing toward her. The rumble of conversations began to fade as their group journeyed further down the maze of streets until Fíli and Sigrid were left standing alone.

Her face was turned slightly away from him, but it seemed to him that her eyes were filled with sadness.

“Sig-“

“I’m fine,” she said, a little too quickly for him to believe her.

A cool breeze blew across the Lake from the east, rippling the water around them. Fíli stood gazing at her, concern building in his chest. He took a tentative step toward her, unsure of how to comfort her.

“Our house,” she finally said, her voice wavering faintly. “It used to stand, just there.” She gestured to an empty space before her, her hand lingering in the air for a moment before dropping to her side.

Fíli found that he was rooted to the stone beneath him and couldn’t have moved if he had tried. What do you say to someone who has come back to the place where they lost everything? Her entire childhood had been burned away by Smaug and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

“Sigrid,” he tried again, his throat feeling raw.

When she finally turned toward him, her eyes were swimming with tears. She choked back a sob and shook her head fiercely. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, brushing her tears away as they ran down her cheeks.

Before he knew it, his feet were moving and he was pulling her to him. He wrapped her up in his embrace and she immediately buried her face into his neck and cried. Her hot tears ran against his skin and he could feel her tremble as silent sobs shook her body. She sank deeper into his embrace until he was kneeling on the stone walkway and her face was resting against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he felt more than heard her whisper again.

He gently took her face in his hands until she raised her tear-filled eyes to meet his. “Don’t do that,” he said softly, stroking her freckled cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize for feeling pain… don’t feel like you have to hide that from me. We both know that the world can be a cold, harsh place, but you still have a home, even if you don’t have the same roof over your head. You have your family and… and you have me.”

Sigrid’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes swimming with emotion.

“You’re not alone,” he said again, softly leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers.

After a few minutes, Sigrid’s breathing began to even out. Fíli continued to caress her cheek, his forehead still settled firmly against hers.

Another cool breeze blew across the Lake, but this time, the wind was stronger and more biting. Fíli gazed up and was surprised to see that storm clouds had begun to darken the skies. He glanced around, but could not see where the others had gone.

He stood and helped pull Sigrid to her feet. “There’s a storm coming. We need to find shelter.”

“None of the buildings are finished,” Sigrid pointed out, the strong winds pulling at her hair.

Fíli muttered several curses under his breath as thunder rumbled ominously overhead. Spotting the warehouses on shore, he grabbed Sigrid’s hand and began to navigate the paved causeway. When they reached the bridge that connected Lake-town to the shore, Fíli broken into a light run, pulling Sigrid behind him. She stumbled a few times as the strong winds tangled her skirts, but Fíli kept a firm grip on her hand and did not let her fall.

As they reached the end of the bridge, the heavens opened and rain began to pour down in torrents. Fíli ducked his head and pressed on. When they finally reached the warehouse, they found that the door was locked. Fíli raised his leg and gave the door a solid kick. The pine door groaned, but did not budge. Growling under his breath, he dropped Sigrid’s hand and took a step back to assess the door. The rain stung his eyes and the wind torn at his clothes, but he stood firm and unmoving. Thunder echoed overhead. Finally, he stepped forward and threw all of his weight behind his blow. The wood cracked beneath his heavy boot. Once more, and then another well-placed kick, and the door finally gave way.

Fíli threw his shoulder into the door to open it fully and then pulled Sigrid inside. He left the door open enough to provide light in the dim space until he located a lantern, which hung on a peg near the door. He carefully lit the candle within the lantern and a soft golden light began to chase away the darkness. Satisfied that the flame was steady, he quickly pushed the door shut and secured the broken lock with a board.

Sighing in relief, Fíli ran his fingers through his wet hair, smoothing it away from his face as he tried to catch his breath. His chest throbbed painfully from the sudden exercise and cold rain.  He attempted to shake the rain from his coat before he bent to pick up the lantern and looked around the warehouse. The majority of the space was filled with stacks of wooden posts and planks. Hammers, saws, and chisels hung on the wall while wood shavings and hay blanketed the dirt floor.

Sigrid stood behind him, shivering slightly as she hugged herself for warmth. Her hair, which had been neatly plated at the base of her neck, had been tangled by the wind and rain, giving her a rather wild look. Her eyes were slightly puffy from crying and her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold rain. She didn’t particularly look like a princess at that moment, but rather, much more like the girl he had met just last autumn, who had quickly gathered together warm clothes for their little company and fed them hot food when they were nothing but strangers in a strange land. And she looked absolutely perfect to him.

She was still trying to warm herself when she realized Fíli was staring at her. Sigrid froze for a moment before tilting her head curiously at him. “What?” she whispered.

“I-“ Fíli found his response caught in his throat _. I love you_. That’s what he wanted to say. That’s what he so desperately wanted to pronounce to her in that moment. They were getting married, for _Mahal’s_ sake. And yet… it was still an arranged marriage. A match made for political alliance and unification of their peoples. Fíli knew he could safely say that they were friends, that Sigrid even liked him. But did she love him? Starting to feel panic set in, he pushed the words away. “You’re cold,” he stated, diverting the conversation. “I don’t think it’s safe to start a fire in here, with all of the wood…” Fíli roughly cleared his throat before quickly adding, “I’m sorry.” He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her.

Sigrid offered him a small smile before wrapping herself in his coat and settling on the ground. “It’s quite alright, Master Dwarf,” she teased, patting the ground beside her in an invitation to sit. “I’m sure we’ll survived until the rain lets up.”

“I think I’ll have a look around,” he said stiffly before turning his back to her and walking away. He slowly began to make his way around the Warehouse, weaving through the stacks of pre-cut lumber with the lantern held aloft. Once safely out of sight, he sighed and ran a hand down his face. A nasty feeling of guilt gnawed at his stomach. Hadn’t he just told her not to hide her feeling from him? What a hypocrite he was… and now he’d gone and left her in the dark, quite literally, as he had taken the only light they had with him.

_“Kakhf”_ , he muttered to himself, feeling like an absolutely fool.

He could almost hear Kíli scolding him for being so insensitive. “Leaving a pretty lass like that alone, cold and wet, in the dark while you feel sorry for yourself? And your bride-to-be at that! Shame, Fíli…”

The knot in Fíli’s stomach tightened. “I panicked,” he muttered. “I was –“

“Scared?” Kíli offered. “Of course you were! Everyone is! Everyone is petrified of offering their love and not receiving it in return.”

Fíli scowled and walked away from his brother, not wanting to continue the conversation, but knowing he was right. He carefully maneuvered around to the other side of the warehouse, where he discovered a low wooden bench. Beneath the bench were several large buckets filled with nails as well as coils of rope and twine. And neatly folded and tucked behind the bench was a thick woolen blanket. If nothing else, he could try to make amends by offering Sigrid a warm blanket.

Gathering the blanket into his arms, he headed back. When he returned, he found that Sigrid had not moved from her place on the ground. She had drawn her knees to her chest, completely curled into herself with Fíli’s coat pulled tightly around her. As the light from the lantern hit her face, she frowned and turned her head away from him.

“Well, you deserve that at the very least,” Kíli chided him.

Fíli sat down across from Sigrid, who continued to stare at the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Fíli extended the blanket toward her as a peace offering. “I’m sorry for my behavior,” he said gently. When she remained unmoving, he laid the woolen fabric at her feet. “I found a blanket.”

She glanced at her feet before slowly unfolding the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. A ‘thank you’ died on her lips unspoken before she returned to staring at the wall.

Fíli inched closer. “I’m really sorry, Sigrid. I am foolish and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I told you not to hide your feelings from me and here I am not sharing mine with you.”

She slowly turned back to face him, her blue eyes as dark and brooding as the storm outside. Her lips pursed together as she appraised him before offering a small nod.   

Taking a deep breath, Fíli shifted to kneel before her. “The truth… the truth is, Sigrid … I think I love you and that terrifies me.”

Sigrid stared at him, her eyes wide.

Fíli ran a hand over his face, tugging nervously at the growing hair on his chin. “It terrifies me because I’ve never felt this way before and I don’t know how you feel – I don’t expect anything, Sigrid, honest… I am fully aware of the circumstances that threw us together, I just… I hope one day you might feel the same way about me.”

He tentatively reached forward and brushed several damp curls away from her beautiful face. As he started to pull away, Sigrid’s fingers curled around his. She stared at him for a moment longer before pressing her lips against his palm in a chaste kiss. Shivers ran up and down Fíli’s spine as he gazed down at her and he knew in that moment, there would never be any going back for him. He was hers, heart and soul, forevermore.

+++

Eventually, the storm abated enough for Fíli and Sigrid to venture back outside. Bradham and the other dwarves had taken refuge under ones of the bridges near the docks which had been built up to allow barges and small fishing boats to pass beneath. None were worse for wear, save being a little wet and ill-tempered. When they returned to Erebor, all received dry clothes and spiced wine to warm them.

Even though his chest ached and he felt as if he might fall over from exhaustion, Fíli accompanied Balin to the Council Chambers to receive the reports from the other heads within Erebor. Nori, who hardly ever attended meetings, announced that another tunnel system and chamber had been cleared. He looked quite pleased when Balin congratulated him on a job well done. Nori gave a low bow before excusing himself to return to the mines below. The dwarf smiled brightly at Sigrid as they passed each other, patting her hand fondly.

Fíli forgot how to breathe as she rounded the large stone table to take her place at his side. Dís had taken Sigrid aside to find dry clothes when they had returned to the Mountain and Fíli had assumed that she would return straight to Dale after such an emotional day. Instead, she had stayed and it made his heart soar. His mother had dressed her in a dwarvish garment, which fit Sigrid’s form more like a tunic than a dress. She wore a quilted jacket of earthly brown tones over the cream-colored frock which was cinched tight at her waist by a leather belt. Her legs were clad in gray leggings tucked into thick leather boots. His mother had even done Sigrid’s hair, intricately weaving her damp wavy curls into a loose bun at the base of her neck. Sigrid nervously tucked a loose curl behind her ear and Fíli felt his chest swell with admiration as he caught the rosy glow of his courting beads nestled within her hair.

She quickly took her seat beside him, folding her hands in her lap as she politely gave her attention to Khîmas he began his assessment of the ventilation concerns in the newly cleared tunnels. As Fíli sat beside Balin, listening to Khîm’s recommendation for more ventilation shafts, he felt a slight pressure at his wrist. Looking down, he saw Sigrid’s long, slender fingers tracing the patterns etched into his leather bracers. As her palm rested upon his wrist, he noticed that the same patterns were embroidered into her own sleeves, which Fíli realized his mother must have sown. Sensing his eyes on her, she shyly looked up and although a slight blush arose in her cheeks, she did not withdraw her hand. Fíli could feel a small smile tug at his lip as he slid his hand into hers before turning his attention back to the dwarf before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - thank you so much for sticking with me through my slow updates! I am overwhelmed at the response this story has gotten and I truly appreciate each and every one of you that reads this little fic!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - How I like it when the words just flow! Hope you enjoy this next chapter, lovelies!

Rumors of orcs packs roaming in the Withered Heath began to stir as the hot summer gave way to the beginning of harvest season. A ranger from the North had passed through Dale, warning of rogue attacks on small villages and settlements near the Grey Mountains. He expected many families to flee south to the Lake country or other parts of Rhovanion.  

Balin sent a raven to Thelór to see if the dwarves of the Grey Mountains were in need of aid. Thelór sent back word that none of the orc attacks had taken place within Ered Mithrin, but that they would meet the swift and punishing hammers of the Ironfist if they did.

Bard instructed his chief archer, Tate, to give a call to arms in order to recruit any man or woman who was of age and willing to give service in Dale’s reserve army. Sigrid’s brother, Bain, was one of the first to volunteer and pledge service. He trained with a small company under Tate’s watchful eye every day at an archery range that was erected just outside the city walls on the flat plain between Dale and Erebor.

Sigrid was concerned about her brother, but Fíli reassured her that Bain was already an experienced warrior, having protected both Tilda and herself against orcs during the Battle of the Five Armies. She tried to find comfort in his words, but began to fervently sow quilted doublets for the arches to wear beneath their leather jerkins. Even Tilda’s usual spark had faded from her eyes and she solemnly followed after Sigrid wherever she went.  

Dwalin took up the responsibilities of the dwarven forces and began to instruct a small number of the dwarflings that had not yet raised their first battle axe. He quickly lost his patience though and proceeded to send all of the young dwarves down to the mines to work the forges for a fortnight to strengthen and harden them. Nori was delighted at the extra hands, as more than half his laborers were still working construction efforts at both Dale and Lake-town. Nori quickly put the dozen or so dwarflings to work manning the forge billows, swinging heavy hammers to beat and shape molten metals, and clearing rubble from several collapsed pillars. After two weeks, Dwalin was satisfied enough at their progress to take them back out to the training field where he began to run them through rigorous drills with blunted swords and axes, very similar to the exercises he had put Fíli and Kíli through when they were young.

Fíli found himself watching them from the veranda of the Great Hall as he smoked his pipe, reminiscing of summers long gone by when he used to play battle against his brother in the woods of Ered Luin, both proclaiming to be great warriors that would slay the fearsome dragon and take back their homeland. In the late evenings, he would meet Dwalin in a private hall to practice his own sword work. Fíli grew frustrated when he tired easily, but Dwalin was patient with him as he built his strength back. The weight of his dual swords was heavy in hand, but Fíli was persistent in his efforts until finally, the swords felt like nothing more than an extension of his own arm once more.

With Fíli’s training on top of all his other responsibilities, he hardly had time left for anything else. Dori visited his chambers first thing in the morning to report various goods that needed replenishing while Ori helped Fíli finish dressing. Balin and Ori would accompany him down to the mines to meet with Nori, who was much happier now that he had a dozen extra laborers to assist him for at least six hours a day before they were called away to train in the yard with Dwalin. Balin’s history lessons were halted in favor of quick Council Meetings. Khîm refocused his efforts from ventilation tunnels to securing the Mountain’s defenses in the case that were was an attack. He and his small group of dwarves patrolled the slopes of Erebor and investigated each hollow and ravine to drive out any creatures lurking in the dark. Likewise, Nori was to take two other dwarves into the depths of Erebor to ensure there were no unknown entry points into the Mountain from beneath the shadows. Bombur had begun to assemble several massive pantries to store corps once the harvest started. He already had his cooks pickling vegetables and salting meats in preparation for winter but redoubled his efforts in case refugees flooded into Erebor during an assault.

After long days of overseeing operations within the Mountain, Fíli found relief in his training with Dwalin. Not only did it help put his mind at ease over his ability to potentially defend himself against an enemy, it also quieted the voices in his head considerably. With his time and energies focused elsewhere, he hardly had time to be consumed with worry over his pending marriage to Sigrid or political concerns between Erebor and Dale or what was going on between his mother and Dwalin…

He gave instructions and they were carried out.

He received reports from Ori and counsel from Balin.

He chipped away at the wall in his chamber with Nori, and sometimes Bifur or Bofur.

He trained with Dwalin and pushed himself as far as his body allowed.

His mother reminded him to eat and while he inhaled his food, Dís would smoke and they would sit in comfortable silence.

When he saw Sigrid passing in the hall, he would kiss her cheek and whisper that he missed her. He would ruffle Tilda’s hair and promise her picnics on the Lake shore when all had settled.

At night, long after the others had gone to bed, he would wander up to the ramparts and tell Kíli about all the hassles of the day.

Decisions that had once seemed daunting, he now handled with ease. He was no longer bothered with Ori trailing behind him all day long. Those that dwelled in Erebor watched their young monarch strive to rebuild all that was once lost and many took his devotion to heart and grew increasingly loyal to the Heir of Durin.

And without quite realizing it, Fíli had indeed become the King Under the Mountain.

+++

Although several parties of orc were driven off of the Iron Hills by Dáin, none dared venture any closer to the lake country that autumn. The dwarflings went to work full time under Nori in the mines and only occasionally would report to the training yard. The Mountain buzzed with life and riches flowed from within.

Homes, shops, and other structures began to take shape at Lake-town until the last buildings had been thatched and shingled. Fishermen and their families moved back into Lake-town, happy to once more be on the water. Both the laborers from Lake-town and Dale were given a day of rest and a feast was arranged for them in the Great Hall at Erebor. Fíli praised their hard work and toil, presenting each dwarf with a small bag of gold for their efforts. They cheered heartily and drank deep, for the dwarves that had been at Lake-town would be joining those at Dale come the morning. Drunk voices sang out old dwarrow mining tunes, mountain melodies and battle cries.

Balin was moved to tears as he sat beside Fíli, watching the boisterously drunken crowd from atop the dais. He smiled sadly at the young king, and wiped a tear from the tip of his large nose. “This is what Thorin would have wanted it to be – laughter and drinking, joy and song. This is good, _Melhekh_ , this is good,” he murmured, patting Fíli’s arm.

Fíli was silent for the rest of the night, watching the dwarves drink and laugh, curse and fight, pondering Balin’s words.

+++

With almost 100 dwarves now joining in the rebuilding efforts, the reconstruction of Dale was given new life. Although stonemasons and carpenters from Dale had been working alongside the dwarves since spring, a man is no match for a dwarf’s natural talents. In less than a month’s time, the last opening in the wall had been mended and gleamed as if new.

Rubble was removed from destroyed houses and the grounds cleared in preparation for new buildings. Refugees from the northern wildlands moved into the lower levels of the city and occupied houses that the fishermen and their families had left. As the dwarves labored furiously to finish the major repairs in Dale before Durin’s Day and the end of autumn, the men of the city began their harvesting their crops in earnest. Men, women, and children could all be seen in the fields, reaping grains and picking vegetables. There were beans, sugar beets, and barley to be collected in abundance. Fruit was dried, meats smoked and salted and nuts roasted to preserve them for the winter ahead.

As promised, Bard delivered a portion of the harvest to Erebor. Boys pulled carts full of wheat, potatoes and pumpkins to Erebor while maids carries baskets of apples, carrots, peppers and cabbages. Bombur filled his panties with smoked ham and dried fish and venison, thick rounds of hard cheese and barrels of ale.

Balin proposed a festival on Durin’s Day once the harvest had been completed. He suggested it as a way of honoring dwarvish culture and celebrating a successful harvest. Fíli agreed, knowing a festival would be well received by the dwarves after such a long summer of hard labor.

With an invitation extended to Bard and the City of Dale through Sigrid, Balin, along with Dori and Ori, began to make preparations for the celebration.

Normal labors ceased as half the Mountain pitched in to clear the field before the Gates of Erebor. Large tents of vibrant yellows, greens, and gold were erected while long tables and benches were made for dining. Bombur was busy in the kitchen, baking cakes and meat pies, roasting root vegetables and boar as he bellowed out instructions to his cooks.

The day before the festival was to begin, Bard rode to Erebor to meets with Fíli.While not wholly unexpected, his arrival surprised Fíli. The two kings sat in silence for a while, both appraising the other from across the large stone table.  After several long moments of silence, Balin finally cleared his throat and suggested that they take tea in Fíli’s chambers.

As they walked down the corridor, Balin rested his hand on Fíli’s arm. Fíli dipped his head to his advisor to listen.

“Use this as an opportunity to show Bard the improvements you have made to the chambers for Sigrid,” he said in a hushed tone.

Fíli glanced over his shoulder at Bard, who seemed enthralled by the gilded inscriptions and cravings that ran along the marbled walls. He nodded, knowing that the approval of the bride’s father in the groom’s living arrangements was an important aspect of the dwarrow’s engagement tradition.

Once inside Fíli’s rooms, Balin set about to ready the tea. Bard turned slowly about the sitting room, examining the furnishings and tapestries.

“The rooms used to be much smaller,” Fíli began tentatively. “See, just through here, we have expanded the sitting room into an adjacent chamber to open up the space.”

Bard nodded, walking forward through the newly constructed archway. Nori’s pickaxe and chisel still lay against one of the pillars. The king ran his hand along the green marble, inspecting the runes that were carved along the side. He traced it with his finger.

“What does it say?” he asked, glancing down at Fíli.

“It speaks of my forefather, Durin,” Fíli explained. “The entire ballad is etched in the stone, but the words along this pillar read:

_A king he was on carven throne_

_In many-pillared halls of stone_

_With golden roof and silver floor,_

_And runes of power upon the door._

_The light of sun and star and moon_

_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_

_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_

_There shone for-ever fair and bright.”_

Bard tapped the words, pondering. “How many other rooms are there?” he inquired. 

“There is a pantry off of the sitting room,” Fíli said, gesturing to the room which Balin had disappeared into. “Through this door way is the bed chamber and dressing room. There is a wash room connected to the dressing room as well.”

Bard walked the length of the room as he listened to Fíli, nodding occasionally. “It is a shame there is no balcony or window – could one not be made?”

Fíli felt his heart sink. He hadn’t considered the fact that there was no outside light. He slowly shook his head. “Unfortunately, we are too far inside the Mountain to have access to the outside.”

Bard simply shrugged. “I supposed that is to be expected of living in Erebor.”

Fíli rubbed the back of his neck, starting to feel tense. Perhaps he could build Sigrid a private terrace or balcony above the veranda near the Great Hall? He hadn’t considered that the lack of nature light might be a problem, but thinking back, he realized how much he had missed the open sky after first arriving at the Mountain. His fingers twitched nervously for a blade to twirl and he stubbornly curled his hands into fists to prevent the shaking.

The tea kettle Balin set out began to whistle and he carefully lifted it away from the flames with a cloth wrapped around the handle.

Bard turned back toward the sitting room and laid a hand upon Fíli’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Master Dwarf, I’m sure Sigrid will find the rooms very charming.”

He wasn’t sure if the former-bargeman was being sincere or trying to insult him and fought a scowl off his face. Bard sat down in one of the large armchairs, which appeared to be a bit short for his long legs. He gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Balin and two began to converse about the festival.

Fíli glanced around the room, wondering if Sigrid would really like the living quarters. The sitting room was divided into two sections, each area having its own great fireplace. Fíli’s old sitting room contained two large armchairs, which were comfortably cushioned, as well as a small table and stool. A writing desk and chair were nestled in the corner of the room. Unused candles and bottles of ink sat in the desk’s compartments. A stack of firewood sat in a basket beside the fireplace and a cupboard was hung next to the pantry door. Fíli’s pantry contained a small amount of food, tea, and several barrels of pipe tobacco.   

The room that now adjoined Fíli’s sitting room was much larger and its ceilings were more vaulted. A circular table had been placed near the fireplace and was surrounded with four stout, but ornately carved chairs. A couch sat on the opposite wall with several blankets and furs draped across it. Ori had insisted on installing a bookcase, which sat empty, save for a handful of leather-bound volumes. Dori had even added some decorative pieces through the room, which Fíli though Sigrid would like. What more could he possibly do?

Sighing, Fíli took up his tea and joined the others by the fire.

+++

The morning of Durin’s Day broke bright and clear. Dwarves scrambled to and fro as they finished last minute preparations. Citizens from Dale began to wander down into the valley in the mid-morning hours and by noon, the field was full of the hum and bustle that accompanies such a large gathering.

Fíli ascended to the balcony above the Gate of Erebor, where his uncle had once stood and addressed a great host. A loud horn bellowed from the watch tower and Fíli welcomed all those that had gathered.

“Welcome,” he cried. “Today marks a very important day for us dwarves – _Durin’s Day_ – and the start of our new year. This day also holds special meaning for me because it is the day that my uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, entered the Mountain with his company and reclaimed Erebor.”

The dwarves below roared in pleasure while the men stood stoically beside them.

“Our arrival sent that evil serpent, Smaug, out into the world and he caused much damage and death to our fellow man, of which we are greatly saddened and troubled. But after the Battle that followed, I believe we have truly united together and forged a great bond. So today, we not only celebrate the new year and a successful harvest, but the coming together of both dwarves and men in an allegiance that will endure for many ages.”

Another cheer rose from the crowd, but this time, both peoples cried and clapped and stomped their feet in agreement.

“As thanks for the bountiful harvest, and as a token of good faith and friendship to start out the new year, I have a gift to bestow upon King Bard of Dale.” Fíli motioned for Bard to join him upon the balcony as Nori and several other dwarves brought forth the forged pieces.

As a gift to Bard and the city, Fíli had asked Nori to have his smiths fashion three large bronze bells that could be hung from the bell tower in Girion’s Citadel. Balin had told Fíli that before Smaug had ventured down from the north, Dale had been renowned for its bells, which when rung, could be heard from one end of Esgaroth to the other. 

And with the gift presented, the bellow of a loud horn announced the beginning of the festival.

A small tournament arena had been erected to one side of the field, complete with archery and axe-throwing competitions. A wrestling ring had been drawn out were dwarves and young lads tried their strength. Bombur had been in the kitchens all night and heavenly aromas wafted from food tents along the perimeter of the festival grounds. Merchants from Dale set up stands to sell their goods and wares. Men and dwarves ate and drank together, gambled and fought, all in the spirit of celebration.

Toward the end of the day, Fíli roamed the grounds with Ori, taking in the sights and greeting the dwarrow and men alike. Lanterns hung on large poles, filling the darkening skies with light.

As they walked, they came upon a group of musicians that were playing lively music. Their current melody had inspired a large group, with dancers linking hands and interweaving steps. As they watched, Fíli noticed Tilda holding onto Bofur’s hand, laughing as he tried to keep up with the fast rhythm of the dance. While the dances were weaving under each other’s arms, Fíli saw Sigrid break loose from Bain’s hand and slip away.

As she moved toward him, his chest gave an odd flutter and he suddenly felt light-headed. Sigrid was dressed in a plain dress of brown and gray with a wreath of yellow flowers upon her head. She smiled brightly at him and dipped her head to kiss his check.

“Dance with me?” she asked softly, holding her hand out in offering. She gently bit her lip as she looked expectantly at him with those beautiful stormy eyes.

Hardly able to breath, Fíli simply nodded and slipped his fingers into her long, slender ones. She grinned at him before turning to Ori.

“Ori, I’m sure Tilda would like a partner next –“

Ori quickly retreated, shaking his head. “Oh, no, thank you, my lady, but… I have some business Balin would have me attended to… terribly sorry…” he muttered before turning and walking quickly away.

Sigrid stared after him for half a moment, looking perplexed.

Fíli lightly ran the fingers of his free hand over the yellow crown on her head. “Don’t mind Ori,” he said. “He had quite a fright last time he danced and I don’t think he ever recovered from it.”

The song ended and the new cord sounded, very similar to ‘The Black Nag’ that his mother loved. Dancers paired off and Sigrid pulled him into line opposite her.

She smiled at him from across the row, blushing slightly as he kept staring at her.

Fíli bowed to Sigrid and she laughed, bowing back. They stepped toward each other and then back again, in time with the music. When they joined hands again, Fíli felt a shiver run up his spine. As they began to turn around each other, he felt himself getting lost in the moment and for a short while, nothing else existed in the world.

As the last notes rang out, Fíli reluctantly let go of her hand and offered a closing bow. Yet now that he was doubled-over, Fíli found it incredibly difficult to stand again. He felt his hands drop to his knees as he stood bent over, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized his breathing had become so labored through the dance and now he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs.

Sigrid quickly took hold of his arm and lead him away from the crowd of curious on-lookers. She pushed aside a tent flap and led him inside where he gratefully sank onto a bench.

He gripped the edge of the wood to keep himself grounded and inhaled several deep breaths, urging his damaged lungs to accept the air. He tipped his head back and gazed at the canopy overhead as he tried to calm himself. Yellow silk fluttered overhead. Huh. Of all the tents they could have ducked into, it had to be the one that reminded him of that horrid tent he had been confined to all those months ago…

Sigrid knelt before him, concern filling her eyes. Letting out a slightly shaky breath, Fíli grinned down at her. “I’m fine, I promise,” he muttered. He gently brushed his fingers across her flushed cheek, her skin soft and warm under his rough touch.

Leaning forward, she slowly slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers.

“ _Amrâlimê_ ,” he whispered breathlessly.

Sigrid softly pressed her lips to his, her fingers running up his neck to tangle in his hair.

He cupped her face in his hands, tracing over her cheek and jaw with his fingertips as he gently sucked on her bottom lip. Her hands ran along the base of his neck, sending fire coursing through his veins. He wanted her, in every conceivable way. He wanted her trust and her love and affection. He wanted her heart and soul…

She sighed against his lips as her hand trailed down his neck into his collar.  Fíli couldn’t fight the moan of pleasure that escaped his lips as her cool fingers ran across his hot skin. Fighting against every instinct that told him to let her continue touching his body, he reluctantly slid his hands up her arms to capture her wrists. He broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting slightly.

“Sigrid – we must stop,” he muttered half-heartedly as she sat back on her heels and looked up at him in the dim light, her lips slightly parted and her eyes half-lidded with a wild look that made him want to forget what he was saying and go back to kissing her. “The others – they are just outside. What if someone was to find us like this?”

She blushed scarlet but grinned mischievously up at him. “I don’t think I really care – I like kissing my future husband.”

Fíli’s heart soared only to drop into his boots as he heard cries begin to rise outside of the tent.

_“Du Bekâr! Ifridî bekâr!”_

Fíli was on his feet in an instant. Sigrid looked up at him, confused. “Sigrid, listen to me carefully. Go find Tilda and get inside Erebor – then go to my mother’s chambers and lock the door.”

She quickly scrambled to her feet, fear creeping into her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Orcs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you all for your patience and continued support/interest in this story! I appreciate each and every one of you readers!
> 
> I've been playing around with the idea of writing a modern AU for Figrid, after I'm done with this story, of course, and was wondering if there was any interest in that... I'd love to hear your thoughts! xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: some battle violence and character death ahead; proceed with caution

_“Du Bekâr! Ifridî bekâr!”_

Fíli threw open the flap of the tent, taking in the panicked scene before him. Sigrid was right at his heels, desperation in her eyes are she searched the crowd for her sister.

“Tilda!” she called.

Fíli caught her hand before she walked away. “Remember, once you find Tilda, go straight inside. You’ll be safe inside the Mountain.”

Sigrid stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Be safe,” she said, her eyes swimming with concern. She placed a hasty kiss on his lips and then disappeared into the crowd of frantic people in search for her little sister.

As Fíli fought his own way through the sea of people, he ran into Dwalin, who had Ori in tow.

The old warrior nodded gruffly to the young king and shifted the battle axe resting on his shoulder. “Let’s hunt some orc,” he growled.

The trio marched their way toward the western end of the field where battle cries could be heard. As they drew nearer, Fíli saw that the archers had gathered the tournament supplies and were getting ready to notch flaming arrows. Tate gave the command and arrows rose up into the night, looking like shooting stars as they flew across the sky. When they found the cliff face, Fíli could hear the screams of orcs as arrows hit their mark.

Tate drew another arrow and his archers followed suit, tying bits of fabric around the shaft and dipping them into buckets of oil. They lit the arrows on torches and then waited for their commander to give the order to draw and fire. Fíli saw Bain among the young archers, standing with his bow drawn, his face tight in concentration.

Dwalin led them over to a log which dozens of axes were leaning against. The warrior picked up two axes and tossed them to Fíli. He caught them carefully, turning them in his hands to test the weight. Another volley of arrows flew into the night.

Ori tentatively picked up a weapon, looking visibly pale. “I thought all of this was behind us,” he whispered nervously to Fíli.

Fíli gave a hard look toward the cliffs. “Be brave, _khuzsh_. We have been through worse.”

Ori’s hands still shook as more dying screams filled the air, but he nodded at Fíli with a look of determination on his face.

Dwalin twirled a heavy axe in each hand. “ _Du Bekâr!_ ” he bellowed to rally other dwarves to their side. Dwalin’s army of dwarfling made their way to his side, already armed with various make-shift weapons.

Bifur appeared by Fíli’s side, his long boar spear in hand. He smiled at Fíli and extended his arm toward him. Fíli grasped the other dwarf’s forearm and embraced him.

The sound of clinking metal and heavy footsteps split the small crowd. Dwarves dressed in bits of battle armor marched forward. They positioned themselves in front of the archers, bent a knee and positioned huge shields into a wall. Tate moved his archers forward under the protection of the shieldwall, readied arrows and released another volley into the night. Bifur and several other dwarves wielding spears took up station behind the men.

Fíli took his place beside Dwalin, who was adjusting his knuckle-dusters. He nodded to Fíli. “Ready, _Melhekh_?” he asked.

Fíli simply nodded, gripping his axes tightly.

_“Baruk khazâd, khazâd ai-mênu!”_ Dwalincried before leading a charge out into the night. Fíli followed closely after him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had been training for something like this to happen. He was ready. He just hoped that Sigrid and Tilda had made it safely inside Erebor.

One last wave of arrows soared overhead, lighting their way as they stormed toward the cliff. They were at a disadvantage, being downhill from their foes, but Dwalin lead them forward without fear and a mighty roar.

Orcs poured down the pass, snarling and screaming their fury. The first one received one of Dwalin’s axes embedded in his skull. Fíli dodged an attack from a small orc, spinning to the side as a jagged blade cut through the air. He drove his axe through the orc’s back and the other into its neck, cutting off its shriek into a gurgled choke.

There was no time to think because another dark creature was advancing at him, an ugly snarl seared on its face. Fíli deflected a blow with the axe handle and drove the hilt into the orc’s face. He could feel bone break. He buried the other axe into its neck and received a face-full of putrid blood. Fíli hastily tried to blink the black liquid from his eyes as he was assaulted by another orc, who knocked him over. His head was thrown back so hard onto the ground that he saw stars. The orc, however, was quickly pulled off of him by a pair of strong arms which wrapped around the villain’s head and violently twisted it to the side, breaking its neck.

Fíli sat panting on the hard ground for a moment, trying to catch his breath. His chest burned viciously and he wiped the blood from his eyes. Dwalin grabbed a fistful of his tunic and hauled him back to his feet.

“Stay on your feet, Fíli,” Dwalin growled, turning to bury his axe into an orc’s stomach. “Stay on your feet, and stay alive.”

Fíli nodded, greedily trying to fill his lungs while he got his wits about him again. He ducked low to avoid the thrust from a spear. He hacked at the arm gripping the weapon and severed it from the body. He swung his axe high and let the momentum drive the blade deep into his enemy’s shoulder.

The axe however, stuck in the metal breastplate and would not come free. Fíli gave up on the blade as lost and instead drew a small knife from his boot and drove it through the base of the orc’s skull.

A sharp pain pierced his right shoulder as an arrow plunged into his back. Fíli gritted his teeth and turned to block the blow from a large sword. He caught the blade with his axe and stabbed the orc under its raised arm, driving the small blade into its rib cage. The orc screeched and jerked away from him, but in doing so, ripped the axe from his hand, causing the blade to bit down into his left forearm below his leather bracer.

Grimacing in pain, Fíli threw his fist into the orc’s face. He felt his knuckled connect against soft flesh and cold metal and knew his hand would be badly bruised, if not broken. The orc stumbled and Fíli used that opportunity to retrieve his knife out of the orc’s side and bury the blade into its temple.

As Fíli rose, he saw that the fight was over almost as quickly as it had started. A few orcs were trying to retreat into the rocks but Dwalin’s dwarflings pursued them to ensure that none escaped alive.

He bent over, his hands once again on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Dwalin approached and laid a gentle hand on his back.

“I need to take care of that arrow, _Melhekh,_ ” he said softly.

Fíli nodded his approval and took several deep breaths to prepare himself. He felt Dwalin grip the shaft of the arrow that was protruding from his back and cleanly snap the fletching. He hissed at the sharp pain as the shaft shifted inside his shoulder.

He took a few more shaky breaths and then bit down on his lip as Dwalin pushed the arrow through his shoulder. He choked back a scream of pain, panting as Dwalin tossed the bloody arrow to the ground. He could taste blood in his mouth. The old warrior shoved a piece of linen into the opening to stop the bleed, applying pressure to the exit wound.

“Óin will need to see to this,” he muttered, his heavy hands easily supporting Fíli.

Fíli simply nodded in agreement and allowed Dwalin to guide him back toward the Gate. They cautiously stepped over the bodies of fallen orcs as they made their way through the festival grounds. He was pained to see that several dwarves that fallen as well. A few young lads were already working to clear the dead bodies from the field while an apothecary and his wife tended to the wounded.

As they drew near the Gate, Ori hobbled over to them. Dwalin let go of Fíli as he pulled free to embrace his friend, happy to see him alive.

“I lost sight of you,” Fíli muttered, patting the other dwarf’s cheek.

Ori smiled kindly at him and gestured toward his leg. “Got nicked just as soon as the fighting began. Would have been a goner if Bifur hadn’t jumped in. He pulled me back behind the shieldwall and one of the lads helped wrap up my leg. No real damage, I don’t believe, just aches a bit to stand.”

“Have you seen the others?” he asked, glancing around. There was a lot of commotion going on as dwarves and men alike rushed to the safety of the Mountain. Stretchers for the wounded were being run out to the field and a few old warriors in full battle armor stood guard at the entrance.

Ori frowned. “I saw Bofur as I was coming in – he was running toward the battle. I haven’t seen him since…”

Fíli’s stomach dropped, but he tried his best to push the feeling of dread from his mind. “I need to make sure Sigrid is safe,” he murmured, turning toward the staircase that lead toward the living quarters.

Ori followed after him, giving Fíli support as he began to feel light-headed and winded once he reached the corridor. 

“Which chamber did you send them to?” Ori asked.

“My mother’s,” Fíli replied breathlessly, as Ori slipped his arm under his unharmed shoulder. Fíli tried to pull away, but Ori insisted.

When they reached Dís’s room, they found the door locked. Fíli pounded on the door. “Sigrid, it’s me – open the door,” he called.

After a moment, they heard the lock turn and Sigrid flung the door open, one of Dís’s daggers clutched in her hand. When she saw Fíli, she dropped the knife and pulled him into her arms. He gently wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her shaky breaths against his chest as she buried her face into his neck.

“I was so worried about you,” she whispered, taking his face into her hands. She frowned in concern at the dark blood covering his face. “Are you very hurt?” she asked, fearful.

Fíli shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Most of the blood isn’t mine,” he added, hoping to sooth her fears. He glanced behind her and saw Tilda standing by the fireplace. He squeezed Sigrid’s hand and then walked over to Tilda, kneeling in front of her. He laid his hands gently upon her shoulders. “Are you alright, Tilda?” he asked, gazing up into her eyes.

She bit her lip and blinked back tears, but nodded. “Where is Bain and Bofur?” she asked.

Fíli glanced back at Ori and Sigrid. “Your brother was fighting bravely alongside Tate and the other archers. The last I saw of him, he was unscathed – I’m sure he remained so.”

“I saw Bofur a little while ago,” Ori offered. “I’m sure they’ll all be back soon.”

Tilda sniffled and slipped away to Sigrid, who folded her into a secure embrace. “I couldn’t find Tilda anywhere,” she told Fíli and Ori. “When I made my way toward the Gate, I spotted Bofur – he had kept Tilda beside him and made sure she had gotten safety inside Erebor. He brought us up here to your mother’s room and then he left...”

“Bofur is a good fighter - I’m sure he’s okay,” Fíli offered.

Sigrid looked pensive before she released Tilda and lead Fíli over to a stool by the fire. “Sit so that I can clean you up,” she instructed. She drew a pitcher to the fire and filled the kettle with water to boil. Tilda, still sniffling softly, followed her sister’s lead and retrieved linen for bandages from a cupboard.

Sigrid glanced up at Ori from where she knelt by the fire. “Ori, you too,” she scolded, pointing to one of the armchairs. Ori, looking slightly bewildered at being scolded like a dwarfling, sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion.

Tilda tore the clean linen into strips, arranging them carefully on the table beside Ori. Soon, the kettle whistled. Sigrid carefully removed it from the fire and poured it into the basin.

She positioned herself in front of Fíli and began to unlace his bracers, taking extra care on his left arm. “Tilda,” she said firmly, as she gingerly removed the cloth that Dwalin had shoved into the wound on Fíli’s shoulder, “take a look at Ori’s dressing. If the bandages aren’t clean, you’ll need to remove them and redress the wound.” Sigrid hesitated for a moment before gazing up at Fíli. “I need to remove your shirt,” she said quietly.

Fíli nodded and shrugged out of his coat. He raised his left arm above his head so that he could slide the tunic over his right shoulder without causing too much discomfort. Sigrid collected the stained shirt and discarded it to the side. She handed him a warm, damp cloth and he wiped the blood from his face and neck.

Tilda had removed the spoiled bandage and helped Ori roll his pant leg up to his knee to better clean the wound. She dipped a clean cloth into the basin of hot water and glanced up to Sigrid for approval. Sigrid nodded and Tilda carefully began to clean the cut on Ori’s calf. 

Sigrid focused on Fíli’s left forearm first, thoroughly washing out the cut with hot water and cleaning dirt, grim, and blood from the surrounding skin. Taking a clean strip of linen, she carefully wrapped it around his arm and tied it securely in place.

She glanced over at Tilda, who had just started to wrap Ori’s leg. “Take mind not to wrap it too tight, Tilda,” Sigrid said, brushing hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

Tilda nodded, her lips pursed in determination as she concentrated on her task.

Sigrid turned back to Fíli, timidly raising her eyes to meet his. She raised a clean cloth to his shoulder. “This may hurt,” she said apologetically before pressing the hot fabric against the open wound. Fíli bit back a groan and focused on his breathing. His chest ached from the physical exertion he had put it through in the last hour. How had everything gone wrong so quickly?

Sigrid worked diligently, cleaning the entry and exit wound. After she had finished, she sat back on her heels for a moment, frowning. She lightly touched his knee and Fíli glanced up at her. “I’m going to need to stitch the wound,” she informed him. “Where does your mother keep her sewing supplies?”

“In the drawer, next to her bed,” Fíli said, running a hand over his eyes. By _Mahal_ , was he tired… he had no doubt he would sleep well into the following morning.

Sigrid disappeared into Dís’s bedroom to retrieve her sewing box. Ori stood and patted Fíli on the shoulder. “I’ll go see if the others have returned,” he said. “I’ll bring back a full report once I know that everyone is safe.”

“Thank you,” Fíli said gratefully.

Ori thanked Tilda for the splendid work she did on his leg and left to find the others from their company.

Tilda stood next to Fíli, gazing at his arrow wound. “Does it hurt awfully?” she asked, raising concerned eyes to his face. He watched Tilda for a moment, noting how her blue eyes mirrored Sigrid’s.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully. “It does hurt. But I’ve been hurt worse, so this is tolerable.”

Her eyes briefly rested on the large, jagged scar that split his torso. “Will it hurt when Sigrid stitches it together?” She crinkled her nose at the thought.

“Yes, I suppose that will hurt as well.”

Tilda frowned as Sigrid emerged from Dís’s bedroom, the wooden sewing box in hand. She pulled a chair closer to the fire so that she could be seated while she sewed up the entrance wound on his back. She carefully threaded the needle and tied off the end.

“Deep breath,” she instructed, gently touching his shoulder.

Fíli took a deep, even breath and as he released it, felt the sharp prick of the needle enter his skin. 

Tilda stared in wide-eyed horror as she watched her sister methodically stitch Fíli’s skin together. Her face paled considerable and she swayed unevenly on her feet.

Sigrid glanced up and caught Tilda’s hand. “You don’t have to watch it you don’t want to. Ori’s room is just down the hall. You can wait in there if you like. He has lots of books you can look at.”

Tilda nodded silently and quickly withdrew of the room.

Fíli felt Sigrid sigh against his skin before adjusting her position in the chair. “Another deep breath,” she said and quickly finished the stitches on his back.

She stood and retrieved more thread from the small spool. After she re-threaded the needle, she knelt before Fíli. “I’ll need you to lean back and keep still,” she told him, “I fear this may be more painful than your back…”

Fíli rolled his shoulder back and tilted his head up to gaze at the speckled green marble overhead.

“Deep breath,” he felt her exhale onto his skin.

He swallowed thickly, but did as she asked.

The needle pierced the tender skin beneath his clavicle. He shuddered slightly, but quickly regained his composure.

Sigrid softly shushed him as she sewed. Fíli continued to stare at the ceiling overhead and concentrated on his breathing.

Once she was finished, Sigrid snipped the end of the thread and placed everything neatly back into the box. She poured some more hot water into the basin and wet her cloth. Tenderly, she ran the soft material over his right arm, cleaning away the residual blood. She wrung out the cloth and dipped it back into the basin of fresh water. Then, taking a deep breath of her own, Sigrid ran the linen over Fíli’s chest.

Fíli slowly dropped his head forward and gazed at her. A light blush crept over her freckled cheeks, but that did not deter her from her task. She ran the cloth across Fíli’s heart and over his left shoulder, tracing the blue ink that ran in patterns along his skin. He watched her curiously as her fingers lingered over the lines. 

“I’ve never seen anyone marked this way – save for Master Dwalin, I suppose,” she whispered.

“It’s a tattoo,” he explained. “Many dwarves have them. It just happens that Mr. Dwalin’s are more visible than most.”

Sigrid brushed her fingertips over a set of runes. “They’re beautiful,” she said as she leaned forward, her body pressed against his outer thigh. Fíli’s eyes flickered shut as Sigrid’s lips touched his bare shoulder, igniting his body on fire. He sighed in longing and opened his eyes when Sigrid’s hands threaded into his hair.

Her eyes began to fill with tears as she gazed at him. “I was afraid I was going to lose you,” she gasped, tears running down her cheeks.

Fíli stoked her cheek, brushing the tears away with his thumb. He kissed her forehead and wrapped his left arm around her, hugging her to his chest. “I’m right here,” he reassured her, kissing her temple.

They held each other for a time, feeling each breath, each heartbeat, and taking comfort in the other.

Finally, Sigrid brushed the remaining tears from her eyes and stood. She carefully wrapped linen strips in a bandage over his right shoulder and under his arm. She poured the rest of the now lukewarm water from the kettle into the basin and finished washing Fili’s torso and back. She cleaned up spots of blood along his neck and hairline he had missed earlier.

Fíli shrugged into a fresh tunic Sigrid found that his mother had been embroidering. While she was discarding the dirty water into a bucket, Ori entered the room, accompanied by Dwalin, Dís, and Bofur. Dís cried out in relief and threw her arms around Fíli. She knocked her forehead to his, cradling his face in her hands. His head throbbed slightly.

Fíli patted her arm and could feel his cheeks start to burn red. “I’m okay,” he said gently.

Dís nodded and patted his cheek lovingly. She turned to Sigrid and pulled her into an embrace as well. “Thank you for taking care of him,” she said. “Thank you, sweetling.”

Tears filled Sigrid’s eyes anew, but she smiled kindly down at the dwarrow-dame.

Ori pulled an armchair up to Fíli, his expression very serious. “We’ve accounted for Bombur, Nori, Dori, Óin and Glóin. We can’t find Bifur, but someone said they saw him pursuing the orcs into the hills.” Ori scooted closed to Fíli and took his hand. “The thing is… Balin was badly wounded. Óin is seeing to him now, but it doesn’t look good.”

Fíli felt despair seize him. He ran a hand over his tired eyes and stood. “Take me to him,” he told Dwalin resolutely, who nodded grimly and led the young king to Balin’s quarters.

When they arrived, Óin was mopping at the sweat that was beading on Balin’s forehead. The old dwarf was laid out in bed, covered with a light blanket. The bandages on Balin’s lower torso were only just visible. Fíli realized bleakly that he must have been stabbed in the lower abdomen, possible in his stomach. Those wounds were almost impossible to survive, as internal bleeding and the mixing of bodily fluids tended to prove fatal.

Fíli knelt beside the bed and took Balin’s hand in his. He frowned when he found it icy to the touch and tried to rub some warmth back into it.

The motion caused his advisor to open his eyes and turn his head toward him slightly. “My boy,” he whispered, squeezing Fíli’s hand.

“Yes, I’m here, Balin.”

“Your father has been looking for you.”

Fíli’s brow furrowed. He glanced up at Dwalin, who was also frowning in concern.

“His mind are fading,” Óin commented. “I believe he thinks you are Thorin.”

Dwalin’s face fell and his eyes welled up with tears. Fíli lowered his head to rest his cheek against Balin’s cold hand.

“My old friend,” he managed, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I was expecting you to be at lessons today. You can’t disappear like that. Your father is trying to prepare you for the trials ahead. You must learn your kingly duties. Remember: _Amnâs, akrâg, rumush mudtu_.”

Fíli had to choke back a sob at the familiar words. “I will try harder, _khuzsh_.”

“I know you will, Thorin,” Balin sighed, content. “I know you will… I’m just so awfully tired right now. I think I’ll rest for a bit.”

Dwalin knelt beside Fíli, silent tears hanging in his beard. He took Balin’s face in his hands and rested his forehead against his older brother’s.

Balin smiled. “ _Nadadith_ ,” he said gently.

A soft sob escaped from Dwalin and his shoulders shook. “Don’t leave me, brother. Please don’t go,” Fíli heard him whisper to Balin.

Fíli and Dwalin sat with Balin until the early hours of the morning when he was spirited away to the Halls of Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I'm so sorry :( I didn't want to kill anyone off, but since Balin died in Moria from an orc attack... again, so sorry... This will be another struggle that Fili has to overcome and a chance for character growth for both himself and Ori, who will now have to step into a role he's not quite ready for. 
> 
> Khuzdul reference key: (I've been trying to find good sources for Khuzdul, which can be difficult - I think I finally found a great one on tumblr, but some of the words I've already used are a bit different (i.e. - different sources give different words for "friend"). So for the purposes of this story, I'm going to remain consistent with what I've already established, but here is a reference to other Khuzdul phrases used in this chapter:  
> Du Bekâr! Ifridî bekâr! - To arms! Ready weapons!  
> khuzsh - friend  
> Melhekh - King  
> Baruk khazâd, khazâd ai-mênu - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!  
> Amnâs, akrâg, rumush mudtu - Loyalty, honor, a willing heart  
> Nadadith - little brother (literal: brother who is younger)


	14. Chapter 14

It was a bad morning. Fíli had woken to a sharp pain blooming in his chest and shoulder, unable to catch his breath. By some mercy, he was able to crawl out of his bed and retrieve the valerian root that Oin had given him. The pain subsided enough to allow him to weakly stumble up to the ramparts and into the cool morning air. The sun had not yet risen and the world was still covered in shadow. Fíli wearily rested his forehead against the cold stone and breathed in the fresh air. His lungs protested and his shoulder throbbed as he slowly lowered himself to the ground.

He shivered slightly at the crisp pre-dawn air, only now realizing that he should have brought his coat with him. Even though the turning of the season had only just passed, snow could already be seen from Erebor’s sole peak, which blew down icy winds in the dark.

He gingerly rubbed his chest, attempting another deep breath. His lungs gratefully accepted the cool air this time, although his shoulder still ached. He rested his hand over his heart and closed his eyes, feeling the pounding gradually even out. Fíli slowly chewed on the bitter valerian root, hoping to further numb the pain.

“Still flaring up, eh?”

Fíli rubbed a hand over his face and grunted in response.

“You need to tell Mother… at the very least, tell Óin so he can get you something stronger for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” Fíli muttered.

“You’ve been overdoing it. Óin told you to take it easy and here you are, running all over the Mountain like you’re a dwarfling. I hate to break it to you, Fíli, but you’re not as young as you once were.”

Fíli chuckled darkly, which he immediately regretted as his shoulder ached in protest. “ _Idlig_ ,” he cursed under his breath.

“Tsk-tsk. What would your bride-to-be say if she could hear you now?”

He blushed and turned to look at his brother.

“She would think I was going mad,” he whispered, eyeing his brother. “Perhaps I am…”

Kíli smiled kindly at his older brother before dropping his eyes to the ground. “You know that you can talk with him any time,” he said quietly. “He’s always here, just like I am.”

Fíli turned away as hot tears stung his eyes. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t…” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I couldn’t save him. Just like I couldn’t save you or Thorin... I don’t know if I can do this without Balin, Kíli – how can I lead others if I can’t even protect the ones I love?”

“The world is a vast, beautiful and dangerous place – you cannot stop things from happening, as much as you might try. It’s not your fault that Balin died, Fíli. You can’t take that burden upon yourself.”

Fíli nodded dejectedly.

“You are King Under the Mountain, Fíli. Your people respect you – and they will follow you, as we did with Thorin. To whatever end.”

He frowned, staring off into the darkness before him. He felt a sinking feeling build in the bottom of his stomach and he shivered at the thought.

+++

Fíli carefully descended the steep stairs of the ramparts before stumbling back to his bed. He kicked off his heavy boots before collapsing onto the mattress. It seemed that he had just laid his weary head upon the soft pillow when he felt Ori gingerly shake his good shoulder.

“Fíli,”Ori called softly. “ _Melhekh_ , you are going to miss your morning meetings.”

He glanced up at his friend, trying not to scowl. He grunted and pushed himself up, smoothing his hair back from his face.

“Your breakfast is laid out by the fireplace,” Ori informed him, moving about Fíli’s room expertly to retrieve a more suitable tunic for his morning appointments.

Fíli settled into an armchair by the fire, yawning as he began to run a comb through his tangle of hair. Ori handed him a fresh set of clothes and after Fíli had changed, the two young dwarves broke their fast together.

When they had finished, Ori cleared the dishes away while Fíli finished braiding his hair. The hair on his jaw had finally grown back, thicker, coarser, and a bit redder than he had remembered it. He ran an absentminded hand over his beard, lost in thought.

Ori gathered up his papers and quill before gesturing to the door. “Shall we?”

Fíli sighed before nodding. “I suppose so,” he replied.

Fíli felt as if he was simply going through the motions. He allowed Ori to usher him from meeting to meeting. He listened to his advisors and gave his counsel when requested. He visited the forges and mines with Nori and inspected the plans Khîm had drawn up for the ventilation tunnels. He humored Dori as he listened to musings about King Thranduil’s wine cellar and how they should request a barrel of Fíli’s upcoming nuptials. He made sure to keep all of his appointments.

But Fíli could feel something hollow building inside of him and he was afraid that this time, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out. He felt like Balin’s death was the last straw and he was at a breaking point.

Dwalin hadn’t been taking Balin’s death well either. The old warrior had withdrawn from the company of others, even his mother, in favor of drinking and fighting. He would disappear for days at a time, only to return to the Mountain exhausted and starving, covered in dirt and grime and worse.

Several weeks after the orc raid, the company gathered together for a private dinner. Both Fíli and Dwalin sat silent at opposite ends of the table while the others laughed at bawdy jokes and drank dark ale. Fíli barely touched his food while Dwalin ate like a dwarf consuming his last meal. Ori noticed Fíli’s full plate and cast a worried glance toward him.

Fíli’s brow furrowed and he tried to keep his tongue in check. His friend was simply concerned and didn’t mean any harm. He frown at Ori for a moment before snapping a parsnip in two and popping the raw root in his mouth.

Ori smiled tentatively at him before turning his attentions back to his older brothers, who were arguing over something their mother had said half a century before.

The root was sharp and bitter in Fíli’s mouth, but soon began to spark a pang of hunger in his stomach. Reluctantly, he began to pick at his food. A bit of crusty bread and ale to wash it down. A boiled egg. A roasted tomato, its skin blackened and split. Ori grinned approvingly as he refilled Fíli’s mug.

Fíli managed to give Ori a smile in return and began to listen to the other conversations at the table. Gloin was commenting how he would dearly love to feast upon boar instead of the small ducks that had been prepared for them.

“Real meat!” he was saying, pounding the table with his fist for emphasis. “Not this delicate little bird!”

Dwalin glanced up from his plate. “So go out and bag it yourself,” he growled sharply, taking a long draw of beer from his mug. He belched loudly and wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of his tattooed hand. He speared the duck sitting before Gloin with his dagger and dropped it unceremoniously onto his plate before beginning to crack bones and dismember the bird.

Gloin stared at Dwalin for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes, a hunt would be lovely,” he mused, stroking his fiery beard.

“Fresh air would do us all some good,” Nori added, leaning back in his chair and picking his teeth with a small silver pick.

Dori’s eye glittered with excitement. “We can ask permission to hunt in Mirkwood – perhaps pick up a barrel or two of King Thranduil’s vintage!”

Fíli almost laughed at Dwalin’s eye roll. “Bloody elves,” he muttered, teeth tearing into the leg of the duck.

Óin chuckled and rose to his feet. “Hunting is a young dwarf’s game and I’ve about had my fill of nights sleeping outside on the hard ground. However, my herbs and roots could use some replenishing. Ori, if I gave you a list of what I needed, you wouldn’t mind tagging along the hunt, would you?”

Ori looked a bit crestfallen, but nodded. “Of course, I’d be happy to,” he said kindly. Fíli imagined that Ori had had his fill of sleeping outside on the hard ground as well.

“That’s a good lad,” Óin said pleasantly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll retire for the night.” Óin collected his ear trumpet from the table and bowed his good nights before departing.

Dwalin watched the dwarves chatter excitedly about the hunt. His expression darkened and he lowered his eyes to his plate. Fíli quietly observed him from the far side of the table. The older dwarf appeared tired and worn behind his gruff exterior, far from the strong warrior he had known in his youth.

Fíli rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with a napkin before raising his cup. The remaining dwarves at the table raised their mugs in response, Dwalin slowly following suit.

“To the hunt,” he toasted.

“The hunt,” the other echoed before drinking deeply.

Fíli tipped back his cup and tasted the thick, bitter ale. When he glanced back across the table, Dwalin was watching at him. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment as the others discussed the hunt with enthusiasm. Dwalin nodded to him before pushing away from his plate and disappearing from the small hall.

+++

The morning they departed for their hunt, Sigrid and Tilda came to see them off. Tilda bounded over to Bofur, who scooped her up in his arms and twirled her around, but to her delight. Sigrid smiled lovingly at her sister before glancing at Fíli nervously.

Fíli took her hand and lead her away from the others, who were saddling their ponies with warm bed rolls and boar spears.

They stood before each other for a moment, Fíli gazing up at Sigrid as Sigrid looked down at Fíli, neither saying a word. Finally, Sigrid tentatively reached forward and cupped Fíli’s cheek before dipping her head to place a chaste kiss against his lips. He sighed in relief and slide his fingers into her hair. He felt her smile and his heart soared.

She slowly pulled away, but stayed close, her hand resting against his neck.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been distance lately,” he apologized, guilt pulling at his conscience.

Sigrid stroked the braid that ran along his right temple. “I know that it’s been hard on you,” she whispered, avoiding any direct mention of the deceased. She gazed deep into his eyes, concern etched in her features. “Just… please be careful – don’t do anything foolish. Come back to me.”

Love filled Fíli’s heart for the woman before him. He took her face in his hands. “I promise,” he swore with earnest sincerity.

She nodded and kissed him again, more deeply this time. The hoots from his companions quickly broke their private moment and Sigrid pulled away, blushing fiercely. Ori grinned fondly at the pair while Nori and Bofur whistled loudly.

Fíli meant to throw them a vicious glare, but found himself smiling like an idiot instead. He pressed his lips to Sigrid’s hand in farewell before returning to the others. Tilda wrapped her skinny arms around his neck as she passed him and wished him luck, smiling brightly.

Finally prepared, the dwarves mounted their ponies and rode out from Erebor. Ori rode alongside Fíli and chatted spiritedly about the different herbs and roots Óin had tasked him to collect. Fíli listened in amusement and the cold, crisp air filling his lungs.

They trekked north by northwest, quickly leaving the lake country in favor for the sweeping northern grasslands that ran between Erebor and the Grey Mountains. After several days of hard riding, Fíli’s back and legs ached, but he was finally starting to feel like himself again. The pain was an odd comfort and he could feel his body becoming stronger every day as he adjusted to life back on the road. Within a fortnight, their company had reached the northern most part of Mirkwood. Cradled in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, the forest at the edge of Mirkwood was much more open than in its dense center, the trees younger and foliage spread farther apart. Deer paths crisscrossed between the slender oaks and boar ruts could be seen in patches of brambles.

They set up camp at the edge of the forest. Bombur and a young dwarfling named Vit started a fire and arranged a large cauldron over the flames. The dwarfling fetched water from a nearby stream while Bombur began to prepare a hearty stew for the company.

Bifur, Bofur and Nori began to erect their small canvas sleeping tents while Dori and Gloin built a make-shift corral among the trees for the ponies. Teasingly warning them to watch out for trolls, Fíli accompanied Ori into the forest to gather firewood. As it happened, Fíli found that he was the only one gathering and bundling the kindling and firewood as Ori ran from tree to shrub, collecting bits of bark, leaves and roots. After he had tied off his sixth bundle, Fíli called Ori and together they hoisted the firewood onto their backs and returned to camp.

The smell of Bombur’s barley stew filled the air with a mouth-watering savory aroma. Fíli breathed in deeply as he dropped the firewood to the ground. Ori tossed his bundles to the ground before disappearing into his tent to empty his pockets of the various bits of willow bark, garlic, and too many nuts and seeds and dried leaves to count.

As he waited for Bombur’s food, Fíli lowered himself to the ground beside Dwalin. His dark green woolen cloak was draped across his broad shoulders and the hood concealed his face. The two sat in silence as Bombur and Vit fussed about the large black cauldron, the cooking fire providing a nice heat to warm their bones. Dwalin finally pulled his large hunting knife from its sheath and drew a leather pouch from his breast pocket. He began to crack open a fist full of walnuts and then turned, offering them silently to Fíli. The young king nodded in appreciation and collected the nuts, pulling the meat from the shell. Dwalin watched him for a moment before pulling another handful from the pouch and cracking open the hard shells for himself.

Soon, Bombur gave the call for dinner and the others gathered around the fire. Bombur distributed bowls full of hot broth which everyone ate eagerly along with pieces of hard, crusty bread. The heat from the bowl warmed Fíli’s cold hands and filled his belly.

Darkness fell as they finished eating dinner. The sound of laughter filled the air as Fíli slipped away from the circle of dwarves to his tent. Ori had unpacked his belongings and laid several large pelts on the ground along with a thick, warm woolen blanket. Firelight danced across the canvas as Fíli slipped off his heavy boots and unbuckled his belt and the scabbard on his back. He carefully arranged his sheathed swords on the pelts that make his bed before lowering himself onto the soft furs.

He sighed, feeling the fatigue deep in his bones. The trip had been exhilarating, there was no questioning that. The sky felt impossibly big, grey clouds dotting the crisp blue expanse. He had felt so free, riding across the rolling hills, the tall grasses brushing his knees, but weariness now clouded his thoughts. Fíli tucked his arms under his head and stared at the low-hanging canvas above his head. Even though the journey was freeing in a sense, he felt the hollow absence of those who no longer remained on this middle earth. There was a constant aching in his heart for his brother – he was quite sure that feeling would never completely fade. His uncle had been gone for over a year now and although it was hard to bear, Thorin’s absence no longer haunted his dreams at it once had. Balin’s passing however was not so long gone and the wound of that loss was still fresh. Fíli closed his eyes and ran his fingers against his temple, attempting to ease the pounding ache that had started to build in his head. He sighed again and rolled onto his side, pulling the warm blanket around him, and tucked his arm beneath his head.

He could tell by the softer murmur of voices outside that most of the others had retired to their tents. He stared at his pack on the floor in front of him, which Ori had placed against the canvas wall of the tent. Inside a deep pocket were an assortment of knives he meant to test out on this trip. A thick quilted jacket that Dís had given him lay at the bottom of the bag along with an ivory comb and a small bottle of oil for his beard. One of his most prized possessions was tucked into a small square of blue fabric, which contained several strands of Sigrid’s hair. She had blushed at his request when he had asked her for a lock of her hair, but had returned the next day with the golden strands safely wrapped in a bit of cloth left over from a dress he greatly admired.

He blew out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. He missed Sigrid. He wanted her slender arms wrapped around him, her soft body pressed against his… They had never spent the night together, but it would become a reality soon enough, come spring. He swallowed thickly at the thought. _Mahal_ , he would share his bed with her. He would be able to put his arms around her and pull her close. He would be able to kiss her freely, touch her…

Fíli finally drifted to sleep, his dreams filled with a beautiful girl whose stormy blue eyes drowned him in their depths.

+++

Before they departed from Erebor, Fíli had sent a raven to Thelór and Sindri as a courtesy to notify them of their travels and invite the dwarves of _Ered Mithrin_ to join their hunting party.

Thelór’s small party arrived the day after the dwarves from Erebor had set up camp. The Ironfist dwarf wore a hood of gray so dark that is was almost black. His long beard was tucked into his thick belt. Thelór bellowed out a greeting as he slid off the back of a particularly shaggy pony. Fíli stepped forward to meet him. Thelór bowed so low that Fíli thought his nose must have been brushing the cold ground. “At your service, _Melhekh_ ,” he said formally, his voice rough as gravel.

Fíli clapped him on the shoulder and Thelór rose from his bow. “Well meet, friend,” he smiled, hoping to put the older dwarf at ease. “Come, I believe I had a gift for you.”

Thelór looked surprised, but followed Fíli to his tent. Fíli retrieved a chest from the back of his tent and presented it to the Ironfist dwarf. “As is established in our trade agreement,” he explained. Inside were several emeralds the size of his fist as well as a pouch filled with sapphires. Thelór weighed the bag of gems in his hand, nodding in satisfaction. Fíli presented the dwarf with a second wooden box, this one much longer and flat than the chest. Thelór gave him a curious look before opening the latch and lifting the lid. Inside was a jet black, metal gauntlet, which had been forged by Nori and Bofur at Fíli’s request. The galvorn shone brightly, even in the dim light of the tent.

Thelór tugged at his gray beard, staring at the metal glove. “By _Mahal’s_ beard,” he muttered, “How did you come by this rarity?”

“I have friends in the deep,” he joked, grinning.

Thelór reverently stroked the detailing in the wrist. “The crest of the Ironfist,” he breathed, his eyes bright with excitement. “ _Melhekh,_ this is a truly splendid piece of work. I thank you.” He bowed low again.

Fíli chuckled. “Come, let me take you to the dwarves that fashioned this marvelous piece of work.” Fíli lead Thelór outside to where the two groups of dwarves were intermingling. Dori had opened a cask of wine and was passing out horns full of the crimson liquid.

“Nori, Bofur,” Fíli called, motioning them over. The two dwarves made their way through the crowd and bowed before Fíli and Thelór.

“ _Melhekh_ ,” Nori grinned cheekily at the younger dwarf.

Fíli fought to stay composed, a small smirk betraying him. “Nori, Bofur, I am pleased to introduce you to Thelór, son of Nelór. He is most impressed with your metalwork.”

Nori bowed again, with extra embellishment. Bofur stood beside him, grinning. “Much obliged. It was a pleasure to handle such a rare metal.”

Thelór nodded in agreement. “It shows incredible crafting. I thank you for your labors.”

Nori bowed yet again and Bofur followed suite. “Master Dwarf,” he addressed in farewell, “ _Melhekh_.”

Nori gave him a wink before turning around and Fíli resisted the urge to strangle his friend for making him nearly choke trying to keep a laugh at bay.

Thelór gave Fíli a rough pat on the back. “Shall we begin the hunt, _Melhekh_? There are boar aplenty in these woods, nice and fat from the long autumn. My cousin may have a soft place in his heart for these creatures, but I fear I love blackened bacon too much to say the same of myself.”

Fíli chuckled and then gave the call to mount up. The dwarves gave a mighty cheer and scrambled to mount their ponies. Fíli slipped Kíli’s bow over his shoulder and fastened the quiver to his belt before mounting his own pony. The steeds pranced impatiently, tossing their heads and pawing the ground. Bombur lifted a bone-white horn to his lips and released a loud blast. And they were off.

+++

Fíli and Dwalin walked together in the frozen forest. The hard frost that covered the ground crunched beneath their boots as they following the narrow, winding path through the trees.

The hunt had been a huge success. Fíli had managed to take down a young male boar with Kíli’s bow. Pride had surged through him as the arrow was true and met its mark. He thought that his little brother would be impressed with him, hitting a moving target from his galloping pony. Dwalin had run down another young boar and captured it when he flung himself from the saddle and tackled the wild pig. At the moment, it was still alive, tied up inside a sturdy pin. Thelór and one of the Ironfist dwarves had taken down the largest boar, a beast of a creature, really. They had tracked the boar for most of the morning before finally cornering the boar and putting a spear in its side. Bofur had joked that the monstrous pig must have weighed as much as Bombur. The large dwarf had chuckled in amusement and slapped his belly. “Not likely!” he bellowed and the others howled in agreement.

Fíli was still amazed at how large the creature had been. Its deadly tusks were as long as Fíli’s forearms and its shoulders had stood just as tall as he was. Bombur, Vit, and Thelór’s cook, Burin, had taken to butchering the animal as soon as they had gotten back to camp to preserve the meat. The boar has been skinned, its coarse hide stretched out to dry. They had packed the rump, belly, and shoulder with salt and wrapped them in linen to cure. The back meat was cut into thin strips and hung in a quickly constructed smokehouse next to the ribs. Bombur was cooking the boar’s head in his large cauldron with onions and turnips while Vit was tending to the young boar Fíli had taken down, turning the animal on a spit above an open flame when Fíli and Dwalin withdrew from camp.

They walked for a long while in silence, both enjoying the clean, cold air and the wildness around them. Both of their hoods were pulled up to fend off the icy winds that had begun to blow down from the Grey Mountains.

Fíli finally spotted an outcrop of rock which would offer them some shelter from the beginnings of winter. He settled onto the ground, his back against the large rock face. Fíli pulled out his pipe and cleaned it while Dwalin retrieved a leather pouch full of leaf – not anywhere near as good as Bilbo’s leaf from the Shire, but decent enough – and the two dwarves packed their pipes before lighting them and taking a long draw.

Dwalin sighed and leaned his head back against the stone. He almost looked content to Fíli, for the first time in many days. Dwalin’s escapades tackling the boar had earned him a new gash to his forehead, which Ori had stitched upon their returned from the hunt, mumbling his disapproval under his breath. Other than that, his features appeared as they normally did – a slight dip in his brow and frown on his lips – but normal enough.

Summoning his courage, Fíli turned to the older dwarf. “Dwalin,” he started, before a large hand waved dismissively at him.

“Don’t,” Dwalin said softly. “Let’s just…” He took another long draw from his pipe before folding his arms over his chest.

Fíli examined him for a moment, but nodded. “Ok,” he gave in, returning to his own pipe.

They sat together for a long while, in silence, just the two of them. The gray skies overhead made it hard to tell how much time had passed since they left camp.

Fíli was startled out of his thoughts when Dwalin spoke again.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, laddie. I know that we’ve both been hurting. I’ve not been dealing with… my brother’s death well. But I need a little bit more time. So let’s just leave it at that.”

Fíli chewed on his chapped lip for a moment before nodding. “As you wish,” he said simply. He rose, stamping his feet to warm his blood. “Shall we head back now? I feel as if I could eat an entire boar myself!” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Dwalin offered him a small chuckle in return and Fíli left a triumphant smile spread across his lips.

They emptied their pipes and returned them safely to their pouches before beginning the trek back to camp. The silence shared between them was a comfortable one.

As they came within sight of the encampment, Dwalin stopped suddenly. Fíli glanced at him curiously, coming to a stop beside him. The brokenness on the older dwarf’s face nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Dwalin’s eyes appraised him for a long moment. “Does it ever get easier?” he asked quietly.

Fíli swallowed thickly. Slowly, he shook his head. “Some days are easier than others, but it’s never _easy_ , carrying the loss of someone you love. I still carry them with me everywhere I go. I still -” He stopped himself before admitting that he still conversed openly with Kíli most mornings and at odd times throughout the day. Dwalin would think he was truly cracked … but… perhaps not. Dwalin was acutely aware of what it felt like to lose a brother. Fíli fought to keep himself composed. “Kíli-” he said, his voice breaking slightly. He paused and took a deep breath. “My brother is carved into my being, same as Balin is to you, I’m sure. It never gets easier… But eventually, even though you will always have a hole in your heart … you get used to the ache. It becomes a part of who you are. But one day… one day, you’ll be able to smile again, and laugh, and maybe even feel some kind of joy… but Dwalin, I think they would _want_ us to be happy.” He attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, searching the gruff warrior’s face, hoping he had spoken the right words, given him some small comfort.

Dwalin nodded sullenly. He gave a deep sigh and then turned to Fíli. “Well then,” he said unevenly. “Let’s go eat some boar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - thank you so much for all of your love and support! I apologize for the delay in posting - some crazy things have been happening in my personal life and with work and school, it got a little too much. BUT I'm been slowly working on this chapter and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Kinda sad, but hopefully starting to heal... Anyway, I also decided that I could cut myself off at 20 chapters before attempting my Figrid AU :) Much love to all of you!
> 
> Idlig! - literally: Go far away or could be interpreted as **** off


	15. Chapter 15

Fíli hadn't ever seen Dwalin take to something like he had to that pig. After much arguing with Thelóron whether or not the boar would be butchered, Dwalin proceeded to break Thelor's cook's nose when he tried to approach the beast. That put an end to that discussion and from then on, no one dared to lay a hand on the animal.

The night before they were set to return to the mountain, Dwalin pulled Fíli aside and told him that he was going to pay Dáin a visit in the Iron Hills before returning to the Lonely Mountain. After all, Dáin had a soft place in his iron heart for wild beasts. So the rest of the company watched as Dwalin rode east to the Iron Hills, the pig trotting behind his pony on a long length of rope.

Winter had fully descended upon the country as they returned south and the icy winds and snow delayed their journey for several long days. When they finally reached Erebor almost three weeks after they had departed from Ered Mithrin, Fíli could not have been more glad. He was chilled to the bone and felt a fatigue that he had not experienced since last winter.

Dís was there to greet them at the Gates. Her smile faltered slightly when Fíli told her that Dwalin hadn't returned with them, but she quickly regained her composure and led him back to her room for warm cider and a hot meal.

He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until he awoke suddenly when a log snapped in the fireplace. He gazed around through heavy eyes, slowly collecting himself. His mother was asleep in the chair next to him, her head dipped forward on her chest. Her soft snores filled the large chamber. He gently placed a set of furs over her before sneaking out to collapse into the bed in his own room.

+++++

The next day, when Sigrid arrived to sit on the council meeting and discuss the wedding arrangements with Dís, Fíli had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her fiercely in front of all his senior advisors.

He didn't think he had ever seen her look more lovely.

Her clothes were plain enough - a thick gray linen dress to ward against the winter weather, sturdy leather boots and a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. But her cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold air and her eyes were bright with life and her lips always carried a sweet, soft smile. Her thick hair had been braided across the crown of her head and Fíli was once again delighted to see his courting beads nestled in her tresses. Wisps of loose curls fell about her face and her neck was bare and slender and elegant...

Fíli shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He turned his attention back to the dwarves before him, willing himself to focus on anything but the girl beside him.

Nori was explaining that some of the tunnel had leaks which were icing over due to the harsh drop in temperatures.

"Ice and rock is never a good combination," he was saying. "Very dangerous – the ice could be enough to push a bit of stone out of place and before you know it, tunnels are collapsing and people are being crushed to death."

He heard Sigrid's sharp intake of breath beside him. Fíli frowned at Nori for upsetting Sigrid. "What do you propose we do? I can't very well stop winter."

Ori cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be wise to send a seasoned miner or two through the tunnels to check the mountain's structural integrity. If there are any passages that are deemed to be unsafe, we can close them for the winter. I would imagine many of the areas in question are close to the surface or a ventilation shaft were the cold air is most likely to affect them."

Nori scratched the back of his head, staring at his younger brother with a bemused expression. "I suppose I could take Nár around to check things out..."

Ori glanced at Fíli, who nodded his approval. Ori tried to hold back a smile, but was failing miserably. "Please make sure to mark all areas that have obvious structural damage as well as areas that may be susceptible to damage if the weather gets worse."

Nori nodded and returned to his seat. Fíli thought he heard Dori stifle a laugh.

Fíli glanced at Ori. "Is there anyone else on the agenda for today?"

Ori glanced over his notes, slowly shaking his head. He looked up and observed the dwarves gathered around the large table. "Are there any other concerns that need to be addressed today?" he asked, rolling his quill between his fingers. Fíli watched as ink stained Ori's finger tips.

A murmured replied confirmed that all issues had been addressed.

Ori nodded and began to collect his papers. "Well, then, I believe that will conclude our council for today." Ori rose from his chair and bowed to Fíli. " _Melhekh,"_ he addressed formally.

Fíli grinned at Ori and nodded farewell to him. He rose from his chair, offering Sigrid his hand. He smiled as he felt her fingers slide into his. "Master dwarves - until tomorrow," he said, dismissing them.

He escorted Sigrid from the hall, her hand securely wrapped up in his own. He brushed his thumb against her fingers. "Your hands are cold," he mused, "Let's get you in front of a fire."

Fíli led the way down the passage to Dís’ chamber, pausing for a moment after knocking on the door before letting them in at his mother’s call.

Dís glanced up from her metal work. "Ah, Sigrid, sweetling. Come, sit beside me - we've much to discuss."

Fíli reluctantly let go of Sigrid's hand and pulled up a stool next to fire as Sigrid settled into the armchair next to his mother.

"Have you finished your dress?" Dís asked, expertly bending and twisting thin pieces of metal into shape.

Sigrid poured a cup of tea and pass it to Fíli, smiling shyly at him. "The dress is done - I'm just finishing some of the beading. Tilda has been helping me with the veil." She poured herself tea and warmed her hands against the cup, sipped carefully at the hot drink.

Dís nodded thoughtfully. "Very good. And Fíli -" He looked up at his mother in surprise. "Before you left on your hunt, had Bard given his approval of your chambers?"

"I- uh..." He swallowed thickly. "He said it would do."

Dís frowned at him before sighing. "Well, I suppose this isn't the most traditional of marriages, so if her father says it will do, I suppose we shall have to take that as his approval."

Sigrid glanced at Fíli, her expression perplexed.

Dís set her metal work aside and leaned forward. "Now, we must make sure that all of your preparations are done by the beginning of spring. It was Balin's plan to have your wedding on the first day of the new season. Pray that we have an early spring and this winter does not linger, although -" she patted Sigrid's knee, "you would look lovely with snowbells in your hair." Dís straightened and shuffled through some papers on her small side table. As she turned them forward into the light, Fíli saw that they were covered in Balin's careful script.

"He was very organized, my cousin," Dís muttered, not unkindly. "Ah, here it is - down to the last detail – Now Sigrid, as you know… we dwarves are very secretive about certain parts of our culture, including our speech. It is not something that we freely give to others. However, this is a very unusual circumstance we find ourselves in and because we are bringing you into our clan, it seems fitting that we should have a full dwarven marriage ceremony along with many of its traditions.”

Dís refilled her own tea cup before continuing. “Now, the gifting will take place a week before the ceremony and the wedding celebration shall take place over a three day period, so that both families can celebrate in their own way. The private dwarrow _abkân_ will take place on the evening of the first day and the following day we will hold a public celebration in the Great Hall for the citizens of Erebor. Another ceremony will take place in Dale on the third day to allow Sigrid’s traditions to be honored. Now, Sigrid, for the dwarven ceremonies, there are certain rituals that need to be followed. On the day of the _abkân,_ it is traditional for the bride's father to lead her with a host from his home to the halls of the groom. Battle attire is typically worn in the event of fighting, but in this case, it will just be ceremonial. Our two families will share a meal together before the ceremony, which is referred to as the admâ. Fíli will present your father with gifts and afterward, your marriage contract will be read aloud for all to hear."

Sigrid looked slightly overwhelmed when Fíli glanced over at her.

Dís continued on, unfazed. "The poems of _Mahal_ are to be read before the beginning of the _abkân_ , which will take place in the heart of the Mountain. Once that is completed, everyone's battle attire and simple robes can be removed. Family members will form a circle around you both. Your father will ask Fíli if he accepts you into his Halls. Fíli will kneel before your father and pledge to protect you for the rest of his days." His mother paused shuffling through Balin's notes. "Hm," she mumbled, "Yes, I remember... a bit different, but I suppose that is to be expected... Ah, here is it," Dís held up a small scroll. "The Seven Blessings, which represent the seven dwarven clans - Fíli will speak the words in Khuzdul and you can recite them in the Common Tongue, Sigrid."

Dís held the scroll out to Fíli. “You’ll need to translate these for Sigrid,” she instructed.

 

Fíli nodded and took the scroll, securing it in a hidden pocket inside his jacket.

 

"And then the vows...typically spoken in Khuzdul…"

 

Sigrid glanced nervously at Fíli. “Should I –“

 

“No, no,” Dís said, shaking her head. “Fíli can provide you with a translation… ah, and after, rings will be exchanged - we'll need to get you both properly fitted - and then the dwarven ceremony will be concluded. The next day, we will have a public ceremony where Sigrid is crowned as Queen of Erebor and a celebration feast will follow. Then Sigrid's traditions will be observed the day after in Dale. Why don't you tell us about your people's traditions, Sigrid?"

She stared at Dís for a moment. "I - well, it's not quite as formal as all that, I suppose…" She glanced at Fíli, chewing on her lip. "Fíli and I will stand before the Master… or… the King, but since he’s my father, then it would be the Steward?” she began to mumble, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Well… I- I’m not quite sure who it would be now… I supposed any elder would do… The elder will say a few words and ask if I come on my own accord. He will asked for the family's blessings and then recite some more words. We will drink from the same cup and break bread together to show our goodwill and unity.  Only the Master could ever afford rings to exchange, so there is usually a hand-binding to symbolize the two being bound together in marriage. We will then say our vows and that will be that," she finished, blushing slightly.

Dís nodded, twisting her beard between her fingers. "Simple, but lovely. Well then, we've lots to plan. Your dress needs finishing and then there are the matter of your simple robes... Fíli, you'll need to polish your coronation armor. We'll need to make all the necessary preparations for the ceremonies and feasts. And then, of course, see to the bedding after."

 Fíli almost choked on his tea. Dís threw him a silencing look and he bit back his words.

"Oh..." Sigrid’s cheeks were crimson. "The... the bedding..."

Dís observed Sigrid for a long moment. “Yes… normally, the bride and groom would be stripped and carried off to their chambers by the wedding guests, who would wait outside for a confirmation of the consummation… but in this circumstance, I think it may be best to deviate from that tradition.”

Sigrid had visibly paled during Dís’ explanation. Fíli thought she looked absolutely terrified.

"Mother..." Fíli prompted, his concern for Sigrid rising.

Dís leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand on Sigrid’s knee. “Sweetling, we won’t force you to participate in anything you don’t feel comfortable with. We may be a stubborn and thick-headed race, but we’re not heartless.”

"Okay," she replied quietly. Sigrid looked down into her tea cup.

The three of them sat in silence for a long while until Dís finally broke the quite. “Well,” she said warily, watching Sigrid carefully. “I suppose that will be enough for today – we discussed quite a bit today and I’m sure we all have much to think upon.” She rose from her chair and Sigrid followed suit, her hands clasped before her nervously. Dís placed a kind hand upon Sigrid’s cheek before disappearing into her bedchamber.

Fíli got to his feet slowly, rubbing his aching shoulder before offering Sigrid his arm. She linked her slender arm through his and Fíli escorted her from the room. They walked slowly down the corridor, neither speaking as the Mountain buzzed with activity around them.

They ended up in the Great Hall, the immense green-marbled columns rising sharply above them to the cavern ceiling, the floor below splattered in gold. They walked among the giant posts, weaving between the carved stone.

He touched his shoulder again, the cold weather irritating the wound. He was thankful that his chest did not ache quite as much as it once had and credited much of his healing to Oin’s persistent care and medicine regiment.

The gentle squeeze of Sigrid’s hand on his forearm drew him back to the present. He glanced up at her questioningly.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her eyes focused on his shoulder.

He shook his head. “No, not much… although, the weather isn’t doing me any favors,” he said lightly. He heard her hum absently in response. Fíli stopped and turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. Her eyes searched his face curiously. “All of this – with the ceremonies and rituals – if something is too much, you will let me know, won’t you? If… if you want to wait –“

“No!” she said quickly. “I mean, of course I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with something, but I don’t want to wait to marry you… Spring already seems too far away…”

He gazed into her stormy blue eyes, trying to find anything hidden there that would tell him otherwise. He felt her fingers leave his hands to brush against his jaw before Sigrid curled her arms around his neck.

“I want to marry you, Fíli,” she whispered, lowering her head to rest her forehead against his. “I want this – I… I want you.”

Fíli thought his heart would burst. “ _Ghivashel_ ,” he muttered affectionately. He gently took her chin in his hand and turned her lips into his. He kissed her tenderly, trying to communicate the depth of his feelings for her. He felt her cold fingers trail down his neck before wrapping around the collar of his jacket. He heard a sound of surprise escape his lips as she pulled him back into the shadow of column. He felt the cool marble against his back as Sigrid pressed herself into him, her lips set firmly against his.

“Sigrid,” he mumbled lovingly against her lips, his eyes drifting shut as he reached up to cup her face in his hands.

Sigrid began to place kisses along his jawline, a pool of heat beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. She placed a soft kiss against his temple before dipping her lips to his ear. “ _Melhekh_ ,” she whispered, the word sounding unfamiliar and foreign on her tongue.

Fíli froze at the unexpected word. Sigrid noticed a second later and withdrew from him. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, stepping farther away.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she was out of reach. Fíli gently pulled her back to him. He traced the worried lines etched on her forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered, tucking loose curls behind her ear. “I just … just didn’t expect to hear you speak in the dwarven tongue.”

“Ori calls you that sometimes… I thought… maybe it was okay…”

Fíli grinned at her. “We typically don’t share something like this with people of races outside of our own… but as my mother pointed out, our circumstances are quite different than normal … and you are going to be my wife… I can even teach you a little, if you like,” he reassured her. He paused for a moment, considering. “But… perhaps, I can offer something a little less formal?”

“Ok,” Sigrid said softly, looking at him expectantly.

“How about _yâsun_?” he offered, sliding his fingers against hers.

She smiled at him, repeating the word slowly. “What does it mean?” she asked.

“It translates to husband.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “And what is wife?”

“Y _âsith_.”

“What does _ge-va-shel_ mean then?”

“ _Ghivashel_?” he corrected, feeling a heat crawl up his neck. “Ah - It’s a term of endearment.”

Sigrid smiled brilliantly at him. “ _Ghivashel_ ,” she pronounced carefully, her fingers lightly tracing his growing beard. “

“My love,” he whispered breathlessly. He could feel her smile against his lips.

Voices began to echo between the pillars at the far side of the hall. Sigrid giggled and quickly withdrew from his embrace, smiling brightly at him. “Well then, come away with me _yâsun_ , before someone catches us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to credit TheDwarrowScholar with much of dwarven marriage information that is described in this chapter. They have a fantastic write-up of the entire process - from engagement through wedding ceremony. I'm very excited to write those wedding chapter(s)!! Anyway - thank you for sticking with me... I have the rest of the chapters for this story outlined so I should be able to knock them out pretty quickly now that I'm finished with my school semester until October, as long as I don't get distracted by any of the other stories knocking around in my head. 
> 
> xoxo


	16. Chapter 16

There were many more stolen kisses in darkened corridors after that - whether it is Fíli gently pulling Sigrid into a doorway or Sigrid pressing him against a passage wall. Stolen kisses were all they could afford - Fíli had a kingdom to run, Sigrid was busy with her studies and preparing to take her place at his side, and Dís was occupying almost every other moment with wedding preparations and details.

In the middle of winter, Dori unexpectedly presented a gift to Sigrid at a council meeting, much to the chagrin of the other senior advisors. The coat he gave her was an incredible piece of soft, golden fur trimmed on tanned leather and a warm quilted and embroidered linen on the inside. Tilda also received a matching coat, much to the young girl’s delight.

From that day forward, Sigrid began to receive gifts from the different counselors, none wanting to be out-done by the other. She received a silver arm band from Nori and a purple quill tipped with a golden nub from Ori. Óin gifted Sigrid a set of fragrant oils. Many other small trinkets and prized possessions were presented to her over the course of the winter months.

Fíli watched the displays in growing humor, knowing that Sigrid was embarrassed at each grand gesture. She thanked every dwarf with genuine affection and in doing so, Fíli could see their admiration for the young woman grow.

Winter was particularly harsh that season – some days, the snow and winds were so brutal that Sigrid could not make the trip from Dale to Erebor. The stonemasons began to ground up gravel to spread along the outside watch wall to prevent the dwarves from slipping on the icy steps during the cold hours of the night. Nori had followed Ori’s instructions and taken great care to close the tunnels and passageways which showed obvious signs of distress. The stone ceiling of one tunnel near the entrance of the Mountain had cracked under the pressure of the ice and another passageway had collapsed all together. Travel within the Mountain was now a tedious affair which meant navigating one’s way through a series of detours to avoid questionable corridors.

But however bitterly the wind howled outside, Fíli felt safe and glad for the security of the Mountain. The only thing that troubled him was that the people of Dale and Laketown were facing the same winter with less protection from the elements. Sigrid assured him that the cities had adequate supplies to last the winter from a bountiful autumn harvest and a steady supply of wood for fires. Once a week, Sigrid and Tilda would accompany a group of women to the bottom level of the Dale to provide a hot meal, warm clothes and blankets to the refugees that had fled from the north. Fíli sent a bag of golden coins back with Sigrid to aid in obtaining provisions for the northerners who had fled the orc attacks with little but the clothes on their backs. Bombur even accompanied them once to serve his rich barley, beef, and potato stew.

Dwalin finally returned from the Iron Hills after two months gone with his pig trotting merrily behind him. Ori was adamant that Erebor was not a very suitable home for the beast, no matter how friendly or tamed Dáin had helped make him. After a loud argument with the young dwarf, Dwalin finally relented to build the boar, whom he had named Hob, a pin next to the stables.

Dís was noticeably happy at Dwalin’s return and went out of her way to visit him quite often, whether he was in the training yard, the stables, or walking the watch walls of Erebor. The large warrior went about his duties silently, but Fíli thought he seemed pleased that Dís was seeking out his company.

About a week after Dwalin’s return to Erebor, Dís arranged for a private dinner in her chambers for the remaining members of Thorin's company, along with an invitation to Bard and his children.

It was a tight fit, but everyone managed a seat around the large table which Dís had brought in. Fíli and Bard were placed at opposite ends of the table, with Bard’s children seated around him while Dís and Dwalin sat next to Fíli. Fíli felt a brief pang of jealousy as he watched Sigrid laughing from across the table – he longed to be closer to her – but quickly dismissed the foolish feeling. He would be able to hold her in his arms soon enough.

The dinner turned into the usual rowdy affair, with drink flowing freely and food occasionally flying across the table. Sigrid and Tilda listened to Bofur speak animatedly about the toys he had made back when they lived in the Blue Mountains. Dís and Már, Gloin’s wife, were discussing something in hushed voices as Gloin loudly recounted the boar hunt to his brother. Dwalin occasionally muttered conversation to Fíli, between mouthfuls of food and ale. Fíli watched Dwalin cautiously, taking note of the large amount of alcohol he was drinking.

When everyone was well into their food and drink, Bard stood, raising his cup to toast. A hush fell over the table as all heads turned toward the King of Dale.

“My Lady Dís, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for a wonderful meal among such admirable dwarves. I believe a great friendship has been restored between Dale and Erebor and for that, I am forever grateful.” The tall man nodded toward Fíli at the other end of the table, his dark eyes observing him for a moment before he continued. “We will soon join our two families and become more than just friends and allies. As it were, I do not think I could have parted with my eldest daughter with anyone less worthy – Fíli,” he said, addressing him directly, “you have been an instrumental part in forming this bond between our two peoples. Though I had my doubts in the beginning, you have kept your word in every aspect. I believe you truly care for Sigrid and she for you. May both Erebor and Dale be blessed under your long and steady rule. To King Fíli and his future queen, Sigrid – may they live long and happy in the greatest dwarven kingdom in all of Middle Earth.”

Fíli and Bard raised their cups to each other and drank together.

“ _M'imnu Durin_!” voices cheered out before raising mugs of ale in a toast.

Sigrid glanced down the length of the table toward Fíli and smiled fondly before raising her own glass to her lips. Fíli grinned back at her, unable to stop himself.

The chatter of conversation began to rise again as they returned to finishing their meal. Nori pulled out his flute and began to play “The Man in the Moon Stayed Up Too Late” while Bofur sang along to amuse Tilda. Fíli heard Dwalin begin to mutter under his breath as he tore at a goose leg with his teeth.

"… greatest kingdom … _Khazad-dûm_ … neither elf or man … Balin said… going back … greatest kingdom… Dáin knows… Durin's folk indeed… true home..."

Dís frowned at him from across the table, her expression darkening as she studied him closely. "Erebor is our home," she said firmly.

Dwalin gave a start and looked up from his plate, not seeming to realize he had been speaking out loud. He stared at Dís for a long moment. "Of course it is," he replied softly.

Fíli watched warily them as the two stared at each other – Dwalin looking ashamed and his mother’s face carved in stone.

Few noticed the awkward tension at one end of the table and most continued along with their meal and conversation. Ori, however, noticed and threw Fíli a worried glance. Then, seeming to gather his courage, Ori stood abruptly. “Nori,” he called to his brother, who looked up at him curiously, “how about a dancing tune?”

Fíli and Nori gaped at Ori in disbelief as the young dwarf’s face began to turn a violent shade of purple.

Nori finally recovered and put his flute to his lips, making it sing a cord of notes. “Care to accompany me, _Melhekh_?”

Fíli smiled and nodded thanks to Dori, who handed him a fiddle. “I’ll follow your lead, _Khuzsh,”_ Fíli said, as he pushed his chair away from the table and settled the instrument under his chin.

Nori wore a mischievous grin as he came to sit beside Fíli before he began to play Dís’ favorite song. Fíli quickly found the beat and joined in.

Dwalin rose from his seat and rounded the table, offering Dís his hand. "Dance, my fair dame?" he asked, his eyes pleading her forgiveness.

For a long moment, she regarded him with trepidation. Then she rose, smoothing down her sideburns before nodding in agreement. She slipped her hand into Dwalin’s and let him lead her toward the sitting room. Dori and Bifur quickly cleared the furniture from the center of the room and stacked it against the far wall. Gloin lead Már from the table to join Dís and Dwalin.

Nori glanced at Ori and snickered, “Aren’t you going to ask a young lady to dance, brother?”

Fíli thought Ori might faint.

Sigrid saved Ori the embarrassment as she stepped forward and offered him her hand. “May I have this dance, master dwarf?” she smiled kindly at him.

“Of course, my lady,” he replied, bowing so low that Fíli thought his nose must have touched the ground.

Ori followed Sigrid into the sitting room as Tilda and Bofur joined the others as well.

Nori circled back to the start of the song and counted down under his breath. Fíli watched as the couples bowed to each other before beginning the dance. He felt his fingers move as if on their own accord, the movement feeling much smoother than it had a year ago. He caught Sigrid casting curious glances at him as she moved effortlessly beside a stumbling Ori and he suddenly realized that she had never heard him play before. He winked at her as she spun around and his heart soared as she laughed merrily.

Sigrid and Tilda took turns dancing with all of the dwarves while Nori and Fíli played song after song. Dís even danced a set with Bard before convincing Bain to take a turn with her. The young heir looked just as uncomfortable on the dance floor as Ori and quickly returned to his seat once the number was over.

As the night went on, the songs Nori was leading Fíli through began to slow. Óin had fallen asleep at the table, his ear trumpet discarded next to his mug of ale. Bombur had long ago returned to the kitchens to check on his cooks and several others had departed for a nearby balcony to smoke outside.

Nori stretched out his legs before him, rubbing at the stiffness in his limb. He glanced at Fíli before raising his flute back to his lips. “One last song, _Melhekh_?” he asked.

Fíli rubbed his neck, which was beginning to ache from holding his fiddle in place. He sighed and rolled his stiff shoulders. “Why not.”

A low, sad melody began to build from Nori’s flute and Fíli listened for a heartbeat before joining the forlorn sound. Bofur sat next to Tilda, who had fallen asleep on a pile of furs beside the fire. Bain’s head rested heavy in his hands as he watched the others from the table. Bard extended his hand to Sigrid and pulled his eldest daughter into a gentle embrace. Fíli watched as they slowly moved in a circle next to Már and Gloin. Sigrid looked beautiful in the soft light of the fire, her half-braided hair a shining, dark golden hue and her silvery-blue skirts shifting in a very attractive way against her hips.

Bard’s head was bent to her ear and as they turned, Fíli thought he saw tears in Sigrid’s eyes. He frowned, concern building in his chest. Bard pulled away then, and cupped Sigrid’s face between his hands, speaking to her in a low voice. She nodded and smiled at him as a tear trailed down her cheek. Bard wiped the tear away with his thumb before pulling her close to place a tender kiss on her forehead.

Nori gradually brought the song to a close, the last note lingering in the chilled air. Bard, Gloin and Már returned to the table to finish their drinks. Fíli was retrieving his tobacco pouch from a hidden pocket in his jacket when Sigrid approached them.

Nori bowed to Sigrid. “I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight, my lady.”

Sigrid smiled him, her eyes bright even though her cheeks were still damp. “Oh yes, very much so.”

“We were just about to join the others for a smoke – do you care to join us?” Fíli said, looking hopefully up at her.

“Ok,” she replied, nodding. They retrieved their coats from the doorway and followed Nori down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs, and out into the cold night air.

Bifur, Dwalin, Dori and Ori were already there, seated near the wall, which offered some protection from the icy winds. Dori sipped at a glass of red wine while Bifur and Dwalin raised thick mugs of ale to their lips. Nori sat down next to Ori as Fíli packed both of their pipes with dried tobacco leaves. Dori offered a light and soon Fíli was inhaling the sweet-smelling smoke into his lungs. He sat down on the ground next to Bifur, who was staring absentmindedly into the distance.

Sigrid settled on the ground next to him, arranging her skirts around her legs and leaning against him for warmth.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, lass?” Dori asked, taking another sip of his wine.

“Yes, I did – thank you, master dwarf.”

Dori smiled brightly at her. “I expect that we will be enjoying many nights in the same manner once you come to stay at Erebor.”

“I hope so. It was a lovely evening with wonderful music.”

Nori turned to Dori and gave him a wicked grin. Dori scowled at his brother for a second before turning back to Sigrid with a more pleasant expression on his face. Sigrid looked confused at the interaction, not knowing much of the brother’s relationship.

Fíli twirled one of her loose curls around his finger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her in a low voice. She nodded slowly before shifting closer to him. He grinned as she lowered her head to rest against his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a while, some drinking and others smoking.

It was Ori that finally broke the silence, leaning forward so that he could look directly at Dwalin. “Did you really mean what you said about _Khazad-dûm_?”

Dwalin froze, staring unwaveringly at Ori. Finally he nodded. “Yes.”

Ori nodded thoughtfully. “I heard Balin speak of it on occassion,” he mused quietly. “Of great treasures that lay deep beneath the earth in the depths of the Misty Mountains. He told me… he told me that once Erebor was restored and secured, he meant to go back to _Khazad-dûm_ to visit the East-gate and pay his respects to his father’s final resting place. He said if Erebor had strength enough to spare, he would have liked to see if _Khazad-dûm_ might be retaken again as a dwarrow kingdom.”

Dwalin nodded, glancing at Fíli. “Yes,” he said carefully, his eyes guarded and appraising. “I heard Balin speak of this as well. Maybe. One day,” he offered, noncommittal.

“Well,” Ori began, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air, “if ever you were to go, I think I’d like to accompany you. I’m sure there is much that could be learned from whatever remains in _Khazad-dûm_.”

Fíli felt Sigrid slip her hand into his free one. He turned and kissed the crown of her head, her hair soft against his lips.

“What happened there?” she asked softly.

“ _Khazad-dûm_ was the greatest kingdom ever built to the dwarves,” Ori said, tucking his knees against his chest as he turned toward her. “Our forefather, Durin the Deathless, established it in the First Age and its rule and prosperity lasted well after the War of the Last Alliance when the Dark Lord of Mordor was defeated. It only fell when a terror rose from the depths and caused much destruction and death. Now, when Smaug drove our people from Erebor, they wondered for many years until they finally settled in Dunland for a time.”

Fíli watched Dwalin closely as Ori told the familiar story to Sigrid, who listened with raptured interest. Dwalin’s eyes never left the stone floor, but Fíli saw his expression slip between sadness and anger, having lived through the exile himself.

“After a time, Thrór grew restless and tried to return to _Khazad-dûm_ , with only his companion, Nár, at his side. Thrór was captured by an orc named Azog and beheaded as a warning for dwarves to stay away. But Durin’s folk are not so easily broken, and Thráin called all of the dwarves to march upon _Khazad-dûm_. It was a long war – lasting six terrible years – until it finally ended when Náin, Dáin’s father, brought reinforcements from the Ironhills. It was at the Battle of _Azanulbizar_ where Thorin earned the name Oakenshield, as his shield was broken and he used an oak branch to protect himself and his father, Thráin, who was wounded on the battlefield. The dwarves suffered great loss during that last battle and when Thráin wanted to continue and attempt to regain _Khazad-dûm_ , the other dwarves were not so willing to follow. Thorin took what was left of Durin’s folk out west to Ered Luin – what your people call the Blue Mountains – which is where Fíli and I were born.”

Fíli felt Sigrid’s grip on his hand tighten. “That is a sad story… but now that you have Erebor back, why would you want to leave?” she asked, looking toward Dwalin.

The old warrior slowly raised his eyes to meet Sigrid’s. “It’s something my brother always talked about… to one day go back… It will probably never happen, but some day… perhaps.” His voice was low and rough and after he was finished speaking, he tipped back his head and drained his mug of its content. Dwalin then rose wearily to his feet, Ori jumping up to help him stand. “I bid you good night, _Melhekh_ ,” Dwalin murmured, bowing his head toward Fíli.

Fíli swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded in return. Ori followed Dwalin down the stairs, their footsteps quickly receding. Dori looked extremely uncomfortable and stared down into his empty wine glass. Nori glanced at his older brother and coughed loudly.

“Well, as it where, it has gotten quite late,” Nori commented, standing and stretching his back as Dori scrambled to his feet beside him. “I think we’ll be going as well.” Nori saluted Fíli with a finger to his brow and Dori quickly trailed behind his brother, with a mumbled ‘good night’ to Sigrid.

Fíli glanced over at Bifur, who remained seated in the corner, puffing on his pipe and sipping ale from his large mug. Bifur raised his cup to Fíli. “ _Gamut_ _goraz_ ,” he muttered into his drink.

Fíli patted Bifur’s shoulder. “ _Lomil ghelekh_ , _Khuzsh_ ,” Fíli bid good night to the older dwarf, who grunted his reply.

Fíli stood, knocking the ashes from his pipe. He offered Sigrid his hand and pulled her gently to her feet. She bid Bifur good night as he led her back inside the Mountain, happy to have her close at his side whatever the morning might bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving tomorrow on a weekend trip with my husband and mother-in-law, so I wanted to get this chapter up before I left...
> 
> I totally didn't expect for the 'Ri' brothers to play such a big part in this story, but I'm really enjoying their involvement - especially Nori and Ori! And I'm sorry for the Dis/Dwalin tension... things will get better, I promise! 
> 
> So I know I’m mixing the history and timelines from the actual book/the movie, but some aspects of it I feel just fit better together so I'm just going for it… hope you don't mind too much… from here on out, spring will be right around the corner and I plan on making both 17 and 18 pretty long chapters - wedding (and bedding!) there we come!


	17. Chapter 17

With the longest nights of winter behind them, the weeks began to pass more quickly. Fíli felt both excitement and anxiety as the time for his union to Sigrid drew nearer.

Things that had once just been spoken of were now put into action and Fíli watched as the Mountain began to make preparations for their new queen. Halls were cleaned and redecorated specifically for Sigrid's use. Wine and other fineries were restocked in the pantries. Tapestries were repaired and hung in corridors and galleries. Bombur baked pies and cakes while Dori hung fragrant herbs from rafters and made large batches of hot, spiced wine. Dís had ordered the hall in the center of the Mountain to be scrubbed clean and polished for the private ceremony while Nori saw that all of the damaged pillars in the great hall were repaired.

Ori helped Fíli translated the verses his mother have given him into the common tongue. Although Fíli had always been better at reading and writing than Kíli, his script was not at all as neat and precise as Balin had tried to teach him. Ori's script was much more legible (if not elegant) and Fíli was quite sure that Sigrid would actually be able to read Ori's writing compared to his own. Ori provided Fíli with two copies - one for himself and one for Sigrid. Fíli carried the bit of parchment with him, reciting the lines to himself as he went from meeting to meeting. Sigrid seemed nervous when he presented her with the paper, but he assured her that there was still plenty of time for her to memorize the words and even if she didn't, he would help her along. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile and a kiss on his cheek.

Ori made haste to send out ravens with invitations to the crowning of Erebor's new queen and the celebration of their marriage to all the dwarrow lords of the mountains, Beorn, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and King Thranduil of Mirkwood. He also sent invitations to Mr. Bilbo and Gandalf, although neither one was quite sure how to address the later. In the end, Ori reasoned that the raven would somehow _know_ where Gandalf was and deliver the invitation.

On the crescent moon of _Solmath_ , Dale celebrated the stirringof spring. The people of Dale and Lake-Town went together into the fields and gathered the first meager harvest of winter wheat. Bard had extended an invitation to the dwarves of Erebor to join in the festivities that followed. After the wheat had been gathered, a bonfire was lit next to the Great Lake. The grain was separated from the wheat stalks and the small kernels were toasted over the roaring fire. Fíli curiously ate the small handful of toasted wheat that Sigrid had given him, surprised at the rich, nutty flavor.

Although they were celebrating the coming of spring, the weather was still cold and grew even colder as the sun set over the western mountain range. Sigrid was dressed in warm, simple clothes very similar to those she had worn when they first meet and Fíli found himself thinking back upon those first few days as the celebration carried on around them. So much had happened since Thorin’s company had snuck into Lake-town with the assistance of her father… so much lost, others rebuilt. He hoped that she would be happy with him …

As the night grew darker, there was a great deal of drinking, accompanied, of course, by loud signing. A great cauldron of leek and parsnip stew was set upon a smaller cooking fire and bowls of the steaming soup were distributed among the crowd. Sigrid sat next to Fíli on the ground, a thick fur thrown over their shoulders. Her head rested on his shoulder as they watched the crowd converse and laugh around them. Sigrid's hand found Fíli's under the folds of their shared fur and he happily laced his fingers through her long, slender ones. Several men from 'New' Lake-Town approached Fíli, thanking him for his generosity of spirit. Fíli appreciated their thanks, but ensured them that it was rightly done and credited the hard work of his stonemasons and carpenters as being responsible for the rebuilding. When the men left, Sigrid quickly placed a warm kiss on his cheek and gave him a brilliant smile that he couldn’t help but return.

Shortly following Dale's festivities, the Dwarves observed their own holiday to mark the coming of spring, but their observances were less of a celebration and more studious, as it was typically a time for a family’s wealth to be counted and tallied. After much discussion with Ori, Óin and his mother, Fíli relented to have the horde of Samug counted... or at least, attempt to be counted. There were still countless halls and passageways filled with golden coins and trinkets, jewelry and giant gemstones. In the end, they had to resort to filling barrels with treasures, which were then carried to a room where the contents were dumped and sorted. Dwalin supervised as dwarves from the mines worked in shifts. Fíli demanded on helping and after much loud cursing and arguing with Óin and Dwalin, Fíli emerged victorious and found himself shoveling mounds of gold into empty barrels beside Nori and Bofur. Although his shoulder ached at the end of each long day, he relished the physical labor and was pleased that he was still able to keep pace with both older dwarves.

Ori took responsibility for organizing the sorting parties. He directed every ounce of treasure to its appropriate sorting room. Coins were sorted by the metal they were comprised of - gold, silver, bronze, copper, iron, lead, and nickel, platinum, tin or zinc. A handful of rare mithril coins from the First Age were discovered and Ori spent great care in cleaning and polishing the coins until they looked newly made.

Gemstones were sorted in a similar fashion - diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires, amethyst, garnet, opal and topaz. Once sorted, Ori had the jewelers appraise each gem for quality. The jewels of highest quality would be given as gifts to the dwarf lords and other noble persons that attended Sigrid’s coronation.

Dís took charge of evaluating the state of the jewelry. Rings and necklaces, armbands and bracelets, crowns, chains, and belts were found among the horde of other treasures. Many pieces were broken or damaged due to negligent and age, but Dís was determined to repair as many as she could. Several days into the process, the Necklace of Girion was recovered. It was a wondrous piece of work, thick links of silver with emeralds placed within. No doubt it had been given as a gift from the King under the Mountain to the King of Dale long ago. Fíli returned the piece to Bard as soon as it was thoroughly restored, who accepted it gratefully.

In keeping with his uncle's promise to divide the treasure's shares among the Company, Fíli gave instructions to separate the horde into 14 portions. Gloin helped keep track of the coin and divided it into the shares according to the contract they all had signed when they joined Thorin's Quest. Balin's share was credited to Dwalin and Thorin and Kíli’s shares were passed to Fíli. For all that Bilbo had done on the journey, he had only taken one small chest full of gold and one small chest of silver. The rest he had bid they do with as they pleased. For the time being, Mr. Bilbo’s portion would be set aside for safe keeping until such a time that they could make a decision for its use.

The horde of Smaug the Terrible was so large that after three solid weeks of sorting, only a small dent had been made. As treasure was being cleared from a pantry off of a small passageway, the ceiling partially collapsed. Whether the collapse was due to damage from Smaug, or age, or weather, it was hard to tell. Nori and a dwarf who worked in the mines, Hador, were trapped on the other side of the rubble in a small space between the marbled wall and collapsed stone.

After twelve hours of hard labor to remove the stone, Nori and Hador emerge from their entrapment. Although Nori brushed off the incident as an insignificant event, Ori was visually upset and demanded that the entirety of the mountain's structural integrity be surveyed and accounted for to prevent future collapses. Óin and Nori tried to reason with Ori that in order to do that properly, all of the treasure would need to be removed from every small room, passageway, and great hall, but Ori was insistent. Fíli finally gave Ori leave to accompany Nár to survey the mountain from the highest watch tower to the deepest mine shaft.

After the collapse, the sorting of the treasure was postponed until Ori had finished his surveying of the mountain. Gloin continued to sort and account for the portion that had already been separated.

As the weather continued to warm, Dís arranged for dwarrow robes for Sigrid to wear when she attended council meetings with Fíli and was present for other important events. As it were, the robes did not fit Sigrid's build - the sleeves and hemline were too short and the waist too wide. Dís altered them to fit her properly.

The first time Fíli saw Sigrid in a properly fitting dwarrow-dame robe, he about fell over. The smock was a silvery gray, the bodice embroidered with hundreds of green glass beads. A thick sliver belt was tied at her waist and he could see his mother had given her a pair of thick leather boots that tied half way up her calf and laid over thick, cream-colored trousers. His mother had braided Sigrid's hair in an elaborate fashion on the top of her head and small emeralds pins held her hair in place.

Sigrid blushed scarlet at his reaction while Dís laughed before hitting him on the arm. "You're a king, for Durin's sake! Stop gaping at her!"

It was Fíli's turn to blush after that.

With the marriage ceremony only a few weeks away, Dori offered to help Fíli get his own wedding robes in order. There were several he would be required to wear - firstly the plain robes at the beginning of the ceremony - large gray and brown robes that hung loosely over his wedding robes. Because it wasn't a truly traditional dwarvish wedding, Dís didn't think it was entirely necessary for him to wear his full armor, but he decided to wear a surcoat lined with chainmail. The coat was made of blueish-gray leather which hid the chainmail beneath, save for the shoulders were the iron rings were visible, ending in a decorative row of metallic symbols that reflected his status as a member of Durin's royal line. He would wear his armored bracers as well and have his dual sword sheath strapped to his back.

He would dress in his full coronation armor for Sigrid's crowning. Beneath his armor, Dori suggested that he wear a tunic of fine linen under a white surcoat, with gray and silver fur trim. Dís had described Sigrid’s ceremony clothes to him and Dori insisted that his clothes must compliment his future queen’s.

Lastly, it was decided that he would wear a similar coat of pale green with a tan-colored tunic and trousers to the marriage ceremony at Dale.

Feeling exhausted after a long day of trying on clothes and arguing with Dori over the proper amount of jewelry to wear in one’s beard for a royal wedding, Fíli fell into the welcoming comfort of his bed. As he closed his eyes, he thought of Sigrid dressed in her dwarrow robes and smiled. His _ghivashel_ had looked absolutely breath-taking. In this entire arrangement, she was truly his treasure – and he thanked _Mahal_ every day for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to get something up to bridge between the winter and the wedding (which will take place NEXT chapter!) I researched a lot of Celtic and Norse traditions for these seasonal ceremonies as well as their wedding traditionals that I plan to incorporate into the next chapter (in addition to the suggested dwarven traditions TheDwarrowScholar provides in his blog). This chapter is a bit unusual because it has next to no dialog in it, but I promise that this next chapter will be quite long with a lot of dialog! Thank you so much for sticking with me! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me! xoxo


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter contains sexually intimate content. I hope you enjoy :)

The first day of spring was welcomed by a cold morning. Fíli watched from his secluded rampart as the sun slowly began to rise above the distant Iron Hills.

 

As he sat, eyes closed with his head rested against the hard stone, he could feel the first soft rays of light begin to warm his face. His arms rested comfortably on his knees which were pulled up to his chest. Today, his entire life would change. Today, he would bind himself to Sigrid in an eternal bond. He knew that as soon as he returned to his rooms, that Ori and countless others would descend upon him and he would not be alone again for a single second until tonight.

 

And then tonight…

 

“ _Mahal_ …”

 

Fíli ran a hand down his face and over his beard. His facial hair had grown in much thicker and courser since he had shaved it in mourning last year. He had been surprised at how red it had been coming in through the dark golden hair and tried his hardest to remember what his father's beard had looked like. He had been so young when his father died, sometimes Fíli had a hard time remembering what he looked like.

 

Fíli sighed and rested his forehead against his arms.

 

"Lot on your mind today, _nadad_?”

 

Kíli's laugh echoed in Fíli's mind and his heart ached.

 

He raised his head and looked at his brother. "Oh, you know... just getting married." He grinned cheekily at him.

 

Kíli smiled brightly at his brother and patted him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Fíli. Nervous?"

 

Fíli winced slightly as his shoulder ached, but shook his head. "What's there to be nervous about? The ceremony will be private, thank _Mahal._ "

 

Kíli poked him hard in the ribs. "Come on, you know that's not what I'm asking."

 

Fíli felt his cheeks burn. "I've no idea what you're talking about," he grumbled, averting his gaze.

 

He could almost feel Kíli rolling his eyes. "Of course you don't," he replied, tossing a rock over the ledge.

 

Fíli was silent for a while, absent-mindedly tracing the fresh scar on his forearm. "I wish you were here – actually here. I wish you were _all_ here," he said softly.

 

"Oh, but we are, laddie."

 

Fíli bit his lip as tears instantly sprang to his eyes. After releasing a shaky breath, he forced himself to look up at Balin.

 

The dwarf looked much like he had in Fíli's youth, snowy hair streaked with gray with fewer wrinkles around his eyes. Balin smiled kindly down at him. "We are so very proud of you, Fíli," he assured him.

 

The older dwarf's image blurred before him as his eyes swam with tears. He angrily wiped them away but when he looked back up, Balin was not alone.

 

Fíli choked back a sob as his uncle stood beside his old teacher, a hand gently resting on Balin's shoulder. His expression was still sharp, his mouth set in a stern line, but his eyes seemed to soften slightly as he gazed down at his nephew before offering him a nod.

 

“ _Amadnadad_ ,” he managed, fresh pain blooming in his chest. "Uncle, please forgive me...I-I never...I didn’t …I meant... I meant to die to save _you_..." Fíli turned his face away, ashamed at his failure.

 

He felt a strong hand rest atop his head. His uncle stood over him and Fíli fought back another sob.

 

Thorin slowly knelt before him until they were eye-level to each other. "There is nothing to forgive, Fíli. You fought bravely. You fought with honor. You have been able to rise above the doom and sickness and become what I could not. You have helped to bring unity and life to a place that was so long filled with darkness." His rough fingers lightly cupped Fíli's cheek. "I am proud of you, Fíli. Don't ever doubt that.”

 

At that, Fíli dropped his head to his arms and cried. He cried for the loss of his brother and his uncle and his old friend. He cried for the hole their absence had left in his life. He cried for the past and for a future might have otherwise been.

 

Eventually, the tears lessened and his breath began to even out once more. As he brushed the tears from his cheek, he saw that he was alone again. He gazed out over the wide expanse that sat between Erebor and the Iron Hills as the sun slowly crept higher in the bright morning sky.

 

Finally, Fíli rose to his feet, brushing his hands against his trousers, and returned inside the Mountain.

 

When he arrived back at his rooms, Ori was already inside, having restocked the fire, and was boiling water in a kettle for tea. He greeted Fíli cheerfully as usual, although he did cast him a concerned glance when he thought he wasn't looking. Fíli shrugged out of his heavy winter coat and hung it on a peg by the door before settling into a chair next to the fire.

 

Ori filled a shallow basin with hot water and set it on the table next to Fíli. He handed him a cloth and said simply in way of explanation, "To wash."

 

Fíli watched Ori as the young dwarf busied himself with preparing their breakfast. Fíli softly shook his head, thankful for his friend, before dipping the cloth into the hot water. He must look a lot worse than he thought, having spent the better part of an hour crying that morning. He carefully rung out the cloth before running it over his face, the heat feeling wonderful against the coolness of the morning air. He held it against his eyes for a few moments, relishing the warmth.

 

Fíli ran the cloth over his neck and arms before finishing by thoroughly scrubbing his hands and nails. By the time he had poured the used water into a bucket beside the fireplace, Ori had finished assembling their food. Ori had scrambled eggs and fried thick slabs of bacon. Bombur had sent up fresh-baked bread and a jar of bearberry jam. Roasted tomatoes rested on their plates, the skins blackened and split. Grilled fish sat atop of a thin potato cake and was garnished with slices of onion and dill. Fíli placed a bag of tea leaves in two cups and Ori carefully poured boiling water over them. As their tea steeped, the two friends pulled chairs up to the small table next to the fire and broke their fast together.

 

By the time they were done consuming all of the food Ori had prepared, Fíli thought he would burst. As Ori cleaned the dishes, Dori arrived with Fíli's wedding clothes.

 

"Freshly ironed," Dori informed him, as he meticulously put away the garments in the wardrobe. "Nori is bringing up your chainmail later."

 

Fíli nodded. "Dori, would you mind seeing if Óin has any more valerian root? I'm worried about my shoulder acting up."

 

"Of course," Dori said, bowing deeply, before he disappeared to attend to the errand.

 

Fíli dragged his fingers through his unkempt hair. He would need to comb it out and rebraid it for the evening’s events. "I'm going to visit my mother, Ori," he informed the younger dwarf. Ori nodded absent-mindedly as he dried the last of the plates, returning them to the cupboard next to the pantry.

 

Fíli walked the short distance down several corridors to his mother's chambers. She called him right in when he knocked and offered his breakfast.

 

He stood his head, settling into one of her comfortable, oversized armchairs. "No, thank you - I just ate with Ori and I don't think I could eat another bite at the moment," he said.

 

Dís finished a bit of bacon and wiped the greasy from her lips before rising from her chair. "I have something for you," she said, as she retrieved a small package from a drawer in her writing desk.

 

Fíli carefully unwrapped the aged paper and caught the silver object as it fell into his lap. He examined the strangely familiar runes on the curved piece of metal.

 

"It was your father's," Dís explained. "It was his father's before him. It's the last thing I have of him. He would have wanted you to wear it on your wedding day."

 

Fíli felt a lump rise in his throat. It looked like this was going to be a very long, emotional day for him. "Thank you, _Amad_ ," he said hoarsely.

 

Dís smiled sadly at her son. "I just wish he was here to see you now. He missed so much of you and your brother growing up. He would be proud of you - just like I am, _inúdoy_.”

 

She gently clasped his face between her hands and knocked her forehead against his. After a moment, she planted a quick kiss on his brow, the whiskers of her unbraided beard tickling his nose. A flood of ancient memories washed over him at that moment, namely of the times when his mother would tuck Kíli and him into bed and tickle them with her chin whiskers, filling their small home with bright and loud laughter.

 

So while he was a dwarf full grown, and even though it was the morning of his wedding, he kept his arms securely around his mother for just a little while longer... Only when Már, Gloin’s wife, arrived to help Dís get ready for the ceremony, Fíli took did his leave.

 

As Fíli walked back to his quarters, he passed through a hall which opened into the great expanse of the mountain. He remembered when they had arrived at the Mountain and come to this place - gazing in shock and amazement at the vast expanse of treasures, his uncle wandering among the sea of gold. After a moment of hesitation at the memory, he turned and made his way back to his room.

 

Dori was in his rooms when Fíli returned and gave him the valerian root he had asked for. Ori sat by the fire, transcribing a document for Óin. Dori insisted that Fíli take a proper bath before the wedding ceremony and ushered him urgently into his bed chamber. A copper tub had been brought in and was filled with steaming water and scented oils.

 

Dori left him to bathe in private. Fíli undressed and gingerly lowered himself into the hot water. He remembered how uncomfortable it had been to bathe the morning of his coronation and was glad that his body had healed past that point. The water felt wonderfully hot against his chilled skin. He carefully unbraided his hair and washed it thoroughly. He finished cleaning the rest of his body, carefully running the cloth over the newly scarred tissue on his shoulder and forearm.

 

Ever prepared, Dori had placed a towel on the stool beside the tub and had already laid his ceremony clothes on the bed for him to dress after his bath. Fíli withdrew from the bath before the water began to cool and quickly toweled himself dry. As he wrapped the towel around his waist and turned to examine the clothes that had been laid out for him, he felt a strong sense of deja vu. He rubbed a hand across his brow and frowned as the tunic on his bed blurred before his eyes.

 

He shook his head and sighed, brushing the memories away as best he could. He retrieved his comb from a table and began to untangle his hair. Once he could run the comb through his hair smoothly, he began to expertly braid together sections of his hair. He used his father's pin to hold back the hair on the crown of his head and secured the braids with thick iron beads. He oiled and braided his mustache in his usual fashion.

 

After finished with his hair, he pulled on thick leather trousers and a soft linen tunic. There was a light knock on his bedroom door before Dwalin entered, carrying the pieces of armor Fíli had selected to wear today along with his dual swords scabbard. He was dressed in armor from head to toe, his battle axes strapped to his back. They stared at each other for a moment, before Fíli smiled and nodded in greeting to the old warrior. Dwalin bowed his head to Fíli before laying the garments on the bed.

 

Fíli sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on his boots. He took his time lacing them, glancing occasionally at Dwalin, who was towering over him, as if standing guard.

 

The young king straightened as he continued to examine the older dwarf. "Did my mother send you?" he finally asked.

 

Dwalin shook his head. "Bombur asked me to bring up a cask of wine to Dori and Ori said... he thought you might like some help getting ready."

 

Fíli grinned. "I think Ori forgets that I don't require help dressing anymore - but I am glad for your company. It's been... a bit rough this morning."

 

Dwalin nodded somberly. He sat down on a large cedar chest at the foot of Fíli's bed, resting his large forearms on his knees.

 

Fíli pulled on the armored surcoat, securing an ornate silver belt around his waist. Dwalin handed him the leather bracers and helped Fíli tie off the leather strap after he had slipped them over his forearms.

 

Fíli rolled his damaged shoulder, testing it under the weight of the chainmail. He nodded in satisfaction. "Much better than the coronation armor," he muttered.

 

Dwalin patted him lightly on his good shoulder before returning to sit on the cedar chest. "Are you ready for this?"

 

Fíli glanced at the aging warrior as he gathered up his crown from the ornamental box Ori had retrieved from the treasure earlier that morning. "Yes, I believe I am." He settled the silver crown upon his brow.

 

"And for tonight?" Dwalin asked, attempting in vain to keep the snickering out of his voice.

 

Fíli felt his face flush. He threw Dwalin a harsh glare. "Yes, even for that," he ground out between clenched teeth.

 

Dwalin raised his hands defensively. "Forgive me, _Melhekh_. I know your uncle was never comfortable approaching the subject with you and your brother."

 

"Yes, well, we both know my mother doesn't have a problem discussing it."

 

It was Dwalin's turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

 

Fíli turned as a knock on his bedroom door drew his attention away. Ori appeared, dressed in fine purple and gray robes, and apologetically summoned Fíli to a quick council meeting to finish discussing some last minute business before the king was otherwise occupied for the next few days.

 

+++

 

After the council meeting which ran longer than expected, he and Ori returned briefing to his chambers before he was summoned to another hall by Dís. When he arrived at the hall, he saw that his mother had dressed to reflect her heritage as the only living princess of Durin’s line. She wore a golden bodice with a high collar and long tails which laid over her dark red velvet skirts. She wore a blue veil trimmed in golden lace. Gold beads twinkled like stars in her hair. His mother began to take charge of the night's proceeding and ushered him about from this hall to the next, before finally leading him to dining hall where they were to sup together. Fíli knew that Sigrid and her family had arrived because he could hear Tilda's loud laughter echoing in the corridors.

 

It seemed like Dís was intentionally keeping the betrothed away from each other during dinner, as Fíli and Sigrid were seated on opposite ends of the table. Bombur’s cook brought in trays of food filled with food, from roasted goat and winter vegetables, smoked fish and crusty beards to baked apples smothered in butter and cinnamon and sweet honey cakes.

 

Everyone began eating the feast before them, none more eagerly than Bombur. Fíli took his time, casting glance down the length of the table to his betrothed. Sigrid was wearing a brown hood over her hair and a matching smock in keeping with the dwarvish tradition of the bride and groom wearing 'simple robes' over one's wedding attire. Beside Sigrid sat her sister, who was wearing a cream-colored gown which had been embellished with red lace and embroidery. Tilda's hair was braided and wrapped in a simple coil on top of her head. It was hard to tell what was beneath the hood, but Fíli though Sigrid might be wearing her hair in a similar fashion. Sigrid smiled and laughed and conversed easily with those seated closest to her. Bard and Bain were both dressed in rich velvet doubles, and although dressed formally, they seemed more comfortable than they had at the previous dinner party. Bard joked with Bofur and drank with Bifur while Bain listened to Nori explain the complexities working mithril. Bard had brought along Tate and several other members of his personal household guard, who sat intermingled with the dwarves. Over the course of the dinner, Fíli spoke with Tate in earnest about city security and the training of the Dale archers.

 

After dinner had been finished, Fíli presented Bard with several gifts - a set of bronze bells for more of Dale's bell towers and a large bone horn, polished until it shone like a pearl. After accepting the gifts with thanks, Bard read from the contract which Balin had drafted in the spring of last year and then gave his blessing to their union.

 

Then came the processional where the party marched down into the heart of the Mountain - first, Fíli and his family, followed by Sigrid and her family. Curious citizens of Erebor watched from corridors and balconies as the small host descended level by level into the depths of the Mountain.

 

The room that Dís lead their little group into was circular with a large domed ceiling. Images of dwarven kings of old were carved into the marbled stone and looked down on the host below them. Lanterns hung from iron pegs around each of the seven doorways. Beeswax candles lined the floor at the base of the walls, surrounding them in a soft light.

 

Dís arranged each member of their small party in a circle, keeping Fíli and Sigrid opposite each other. Tate and the other members of Bard's household guard stood watch at each of the doorways, to ensure that the ceremony remained a private affair.

 

Dís approached Fíli and bowed to him, " _Melhekh_ ," she addressed formally, "May _Mahal_ bless you on this, your wedding day." She crossed the circle and took Sigrid's hands between her own large, rough ones. "May _Mahal_ bless you, daughter, on this, your wedding day." Dís kissed Sigrid's fingertips before dropping her hands and stepping into the circle.

 

Óin and Ori came forward and began to sing the Song of Durin in the common tongue, their voices ringing out in harmony.

 

_The world was young, the mountains green,_

_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,_

_And saw a crown of stars appear,_

_As gems upon a silver thread,_

_Above the shadows of his head._

_The world was fair, the mountains tall,_

_In Elder Days before the fall_

_Of mighty kings in Nargothrond_

_And Gondolin, who now beyond_

_The Western Seas have passed away:_

_The world was fair in Durin’s Day._

_A king he was on carven throne_

_In many-pillared halls of stone_

_With golden roof and silver floor,_

_And runes of power upon the door._

_The light of sun and star and moon_

_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_

_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_

_There shone for ever fair and bright._

_There hammer on the anvil smote,_

_There chisel clove, and graver wrote;_

_There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;_

_The delver mined, the mason built._

_There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,_

_And metal wrought like fishes' mail,_

_Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,_

_And shining spears were laid in hoard._

_Unwearied then were Durin’s folk;_

_Beneath the mountains music woke:_

_The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,_

_And at the gates the trumpets rang._

_The world is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;_

_The shadow lies upon his tomb_

_In Moria, in Khazad-dûm._

_But still the sunken stars appear_

_In dark and windless Mirrormere;_

_There lies his crown in water deep,_

_Till Durin wakes again from sleep._

 

Before they were quite finished with the final verse, Dwalin's deep voice began to sing. It sounded like the song that they had sung so long ago in Mr. Bilbo's Hobbit hole, only the words were change...

_The King has come unto his hall! His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, And ever so his foes shall fall. The sword is sharp, the spear is long, The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; The heart is bold that looks on gold; The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. The mountain throne once more is freed! O! wandering folk, the summons heed! Come haste! Come haste! across the waste! The king of friend and kin has need._

_Now call we over mountains cold, ‘Come back unto the caverns old’! Here at the Gates the king awaits, His hands are rich with gems and gold._ _The king is come unto his hall Under the Mountain dark and tall. The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, And ever so our foes shall fall!_

 

As Dwalin finished his song, there was a moment of heavy silence. All minds were upon Thorin Oakenshield, whose quest had brought them to this place.

 

After some time, Dís cleared her throat and glanced at Fíli. "And now, the couple will recite the Seven Blessings," she prompted.

 

Fíli stepped forward and spoke first, feeling a bit odd about using his people's private language in front of so many.  _"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ muha sullu khama akrâzu Sulladad."_

 

Sigrid gazed at him from across the circle and echoed his words in the common tongue. "Blessed are you _Mahal_ who has created everything for the glory of Eru."

 

_"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ muha kâmin, abbad ra hanâd."_

 

 _"_ Blessed are you _Mahal_ who fashioned the earth, the mountains and the hills."

 

" _Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ muha îbin ra ritîh ni kurdû id-abad."_

 

"Blessed are you _Mahal_ who fashioned the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain."

 

_"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ muha khazâd ra barraf haded."_

 

"Blessed are you _Mahal_ who fashioned the dwarves and the seven houses."

 

_"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ gashara khazâd atrâb d’amzur îbin ra ritîh ni kurdû id-abad."_

 

 _"_ Blessed are you _Mahal_ who taught the dwarves the skill to work the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain."

 

_"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ mahgayada dûmmâ tur naddanhu."_

 

"Blessed are you _Mahal_ who gladdens our Halls through his children." Fíli noticed a blush creep into Sigrid's cheeks.

 

 _"Mamahdûn Mahal ku’ mahgayada mayasthûn ra mayasthûna,"_ he said, giving her a fond wink.

She smiled back at him before finishing _, "_ Blessed are you _Mahal_ who gladdens groom and bride."

 _"M'imnu Durin,"_ Dís proclaimed, the other dwarves repeating her works reverently. She then gave the instruction for the bride and groom to remove their simple robes. Ori helped Fíli remove his large gray robes while Tilda removed Sigrid's hood and collected her robes. Sigrid's dress was silver with blue beading along the bodice and falling in a swirling pattern down to her hemline. A silver veil covered her head and fell over her shoulders to the floor. Fíli tried not to stare so openly at Sigrid, but failed miserably. A small smile of satisfaction tugged at her lips, although she still blushed fiercely.

Dís drew them both forward, facing one another. The others gathered around the bride and groom. Dís motioned Bard to join them inside the circle. Fíli's hand itched to reach across the small space and take Sigrid's hand, but he resisted the urge, attempting to look stoic and kingly in this important moment.  

 

Dís glanced up at Bard and nodded at him in reassurance.

 

Bard cleared his throat before looking down at Fíli. "Fíli, son of Halvar, King Under the Mountain, do you accept my daughter into your Halls?

 

Fíli knelt before the King of Dale on the cold stone floor. "I pledge to protect Sigrid for the rest of my days.

 

Bard nodded, tears suddenly forming in his eyes. "Then my blessing, I give to you." Bard stepped forward and kissed his eldest daughter on the cheek. She smiled at him, tears in her own eyes.

 

Dís placed a comforting hand on Bard's forearm before raising her hand to the couple in a silent prompt to continue.

 

Fíli turned to Sigrid, and took her hands in his. _"_ In my Halls, you will find a house,” he promised her. “In your heart, I will find a home."

 

She replied in turn, _"_ In your Halls, I will find a house; in my heart, you will find a home."

 

Ori and Bain presented the rings they were to exchange - a thick rune-engraved band for Fíli and a thinner silver band lined with sapphires for Sigrid. Fíli slipped the ring onto Sigrid's third finger and kissed her fingertips. Once she had place the ring onto his finger, he cupped her face and gently pulled her lips down to meet his.

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he heard his friend erupt into whoops and cheers around them, yelling even louder when Sigrid gripped the collar of his coat and pulled him closer.

+++

 

Dís had to threaten curses to keep the others away from their bed chamber that night, but for safe measure, they were spending their wedding night in an unnamed room several levels above Fíli’s actual rooms. It was really more of a hall than a room, but a large bed had been brought in and the door had been locked securely from the inside. There was even a large balcony which overlooked the Lake, which Fíli thought Sigrid would like.

 

The last glimmers of sun light could be seen sinking beyond Mirkwood Forest and the distant Misty Mountains. Sigrid leaned against the balcony, a glass of wine in hand, and sighed at the sight. She had removed her silver veil when they had arrived, carefully laying it over an arm chair. Fíli tentatively moved to stand beside her. After all of the busyness and excitement of planning and preparations and festivities, they were finally married. There had been drinking and dancing and singing and much merriment after their ceremony and now, they suddenly found themselves alone for the first time as husband and wife. Out of habit, he pulled out his pipe and began to pack tobacco into the bowl. He lit the dried leaf and puffed at the embers, blowing a thin stream of blue-gray smoke into the evening sky.

 

He felt more than saw Sigrid inhale deeply beside him. He glanced at her curiously and she turned toward him, a soft smile on her lips.

 

“I like the smell of your pipe tobacco,” she admitted shyly. “It’s something that I associate with you.”

 

Fíli chuckled and puffed at his pipe, continuing to blow smoke rings into the air.

 

Sigrid stared at the blue smoke, sipping slowly at her wine. She turned away from the setting sun and surveyed their make-shift room. The bed that had been brought in was large – large enough for a man to lay down in – but low enough to be comfortable enough A long, padded bench sat next to a large fireplace, where yellow flames crackled merrily, providing a nice warm within the center of the room. A cedar chest next to the bed stored many rolls of furs and soft woolen blankets. Some of Dori’s best wines had been stocked in a cabinet by a small dining table and Fíli remembered seeing cheese and bread and a bit of dried meat in the small pantry.

 

“Is this where we will live?” Sigrid asked softly, her eyes going to the runes etched into the marble ceiling.

 

“Do you want to live in this room?”

 

Sigrid glanced at him, suddenly uncertain. “I’ll be happy wherever you are.”

 

“But you like this room?” he pressed, wanting to please his new wife.

 

“It is lovely… and I like being able to see the Lake…”

 

“Then this is where we shall live,” Fíli assured her.

 

Concern marked her features. “Are you certain? My father said that you had converted some rooms inside the Mountain.”

 

“I had expanded my current bed chamber to add an additional room, but I want you to be happy at Erebor, Sigrid. If a balcony and a view of the Lake will make your transition to life here easier, I will make the arrangements first thing tomorrow. I think my old room is just a level or two directly below this hall and I may be able to connect them with some sort of passageway - that is, if that I can get Ori’s approval of the plans.”

 

Sigrid’s brow furrowed in confusion and Fíli waved a dismissive hand. “Ori’s having the entire Mountain surveyed for weak spots and structural issues – not that you have anything to be worried about here. There was just some damage done to the lower levels caused by Smaug and we need to identify the specific areas and make the necessary repairs.”

 

“Oh, I see.” She wondered over to the dining table and set her empty glass down. Fíli watched her as she crossed the room toward the bed, running her fingers along the sheer silk canopy. She stole a glance at Fíli and froze for a moment as she caught him staring at her.

 

She smiled and walked over to the bench by the fire. She sat, smoothing out her long silver skirts.

 

Fíli lowly pushed away from the balcony and walk back into the room, lingering on the edges as he continued to smoke his pipe. His heart was beginning to pound loudly in his chest and he was worried that she would hear it.

 

His wife sat next to the fire, the golden light making the glass beads on her bodice shimmer like the surface of the lake at sunrise. Her cheeks were pink from the wine and her eyes danced as she gazed at him expectantly.

 

Fíli swallowed thickly before moving forward, carefully setting his pipe on a table so as not to spill the ashes. He stopped in front of her, finding it funny that he was looking down at her. Sigrid’s chilled fingers sought out his hand and pulled him down onto the bench next to her. She kept her fingers laced through his as he sat, his knee touching hers.

 

Sigrid leaned forward, resting her forehead again his. They sat in silence for a while, eyes closed, leaning into each other. And then he felt her tilt her head right before she pressed her lips to his. Her lips were cool against his and she seemed to melt against him into his warmth. Her fingers slid up his chest and around his neck, pulling him even closer. He gently sucked on her bottom lip as her hands continued to wonder over his shoulders. He felt a low growl build in the back of his throat as she tangled her fingers into his hair.

 

A heat had begun to grow in his belly and the way she sighed against his skin and ran her fingers through his hair was only igniting that flame. He slid his hands around her waist and traced the beaded patterns of her bodice with his fingertips. She moved even closer into him, tugging at the collar of his coat.

 

The laugh had escaped his lips before he could stop himself. She paused, her lips hovering against his. She pulled away slowly, her eyes filled with worry. He cupped her face and kissed her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, peppering her face with kisses. “I just – I was worried that tonight would be awkward.”

 

Realization came into her eyes and she smiled at him before returning his affections. “I told you that I wanted to be with you, Fíli - _yâsun_ _,” she said lovingly._

Fíli chuckled again. “I know. I still – foolishly – worried. I love you, Sigrid, and I want you to be happy – I want to give you everything you ever wanted.”

 

Sigrid placed a kiss upon the palm of his hand. “I love you too, Fíli,” she whispered.

 

He pulled her down to kiss her with a year’s worth of pent-up passion. As his lips began to trail down her neck, Sigrid sighed deeply, her fingers pushing at his collar. He clumsily threw off his belt before shrugging out of his chainmail surcoat.

 

He looked up at Sigrid as she stood, extending her hand to him. When he took it, she pulled him to his feet and began to pull him toward the bed. He laughed again, not understanding how he had gotten so lucky in this arrangement. She pushed the silk aside and sat on the bed, taking a moment to remove her shoes. Fíli bent to unlace his boots, watching Sigrid through the curtain of silk that had fallen back in place between them. He stepped out of his thick leather boots and placed them at the end of the bed.

 

Fíli slowly pulled the silk to the side and watched as Sigrid pulled a pin from her hair and let the braid down that had been wrapped around the crown of her head. She was about to unravel the strands of hair when Fíli’s hand stopped her. She looked up at him, questioningly.

 

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Let me?” he asked, his voice rough.

 

She gave him a small nod and then leaned back, watching as he sat down on the bed beside her and ran his fingers along the simple weave. He heard her breath catch as he leaned into her, placing a kiss against the exposed skin between her neck and shoulder. He began to unbraid her hair, occasionally kissing her lips or neck. When he finished at the crown of her head, he ran his fingers into her hair and felt his self-control slipping away.

 

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, her hair under his cheek.

 

“Fíli?” Sigird sounded hesitant as her fingers brushed against his temple.

 

He pulled away so that he could look at her and felt like he could gaze into her stormy blue eyes forever. He ran his hand down her neck to her shoulder, the smooth beading in her neckline pressing into his flesh. “You are so beautiful,” he told her, almost reverently.

 

She blushed and seemed at a loss for words for a moment before she met his gaze. He could see her confidence growing as she gripped the front of his tunic. “Kiss me.”

 

As a good husband, he obliged. He relished the softness, the smoothness of her lips against his. Her breathy moans were driving him mad and he allowed her to pull him down next to her as she laid back against the feather mattress. He kept himself prompt up on an elbow, his body pressed against her side as he slid his lips further down her neck.

 

She tugged at his tunic and he quickly rid himself of the linen garment, discarding it carelessly. He sat back on his knees, looking down at his young bride. Her features were flushed and her lips parts as she attempted to catch her breath. Her hair was fanned out against the bedding and Fíli couldn’t resisted wrapping a strand of the dark golden tresses around his finger. Her eyes dropped from his face to his naked chest. She slowly sat up and placed her hand over his heart.

 

Sigrid titled her head up and offered him a quick kiss before returning her attention to his battered torso. She kissed the raised, pink scar tissue where the orc’s arrow had pierced his shoulder. Her lips paid respects to each scar, no matter how small, but hesitated as she hovered over the large, ugly scar that ran along his sternum in the middle of his chest. She glanced up at him, as if asking permission.

He nodded, observing her closely. Her cool fingers traced over the edges of the jagged scar before leaving a trail of kisses down his chest. Her hands moved back to his shoulders, her thumb rubbing against the raised edges of his tattoo. She laid back against the blankets and firmly pulled him down on top of her.

 

Fíli found himself straddling her hips, his hands on either side of her head to steady himself. He closed his eyes as his wife kissed her way down his neck, shivering as she hesitantly ran her tongue over his pulse point. He groaned as her hands ghosted over his stomach and came to rest against the waist of his trousers.

 

“Shouldn’t you be undressing as well?” Fíli mumbled into her hair.

 

“You’ll have to unlace me,” she whispered against his ear.

 

He groaned again. “You’ll have to get off the bed for that, _ghivashel_ ,” hesaid, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her hair.

 

“You’ll have to get off of me first, husband,” she replied lightly, biting playfully at his ear.

 

He laughed and rolled off of her. Sigrid rose and stood before him, her hands on his shoulders as she dipped her head to press a quick kiss against his lips. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and turned, giving Fíli her back. Fíli hesitantly placed his hands on her hips and examined the thin blue ribbon that ran along the spine of her silver gown. He carefully untied the knot at the base of her neck and gave the ribbon an experimental tug. The ribbon easily pulled away, opening the back of her dress slightly. A few more tugs were enough to reveal her upper back and the top lace of her shift.

 

Fíli kissed the space between her shoulder blades and heard Sigrid inhale sharply. Sigrid turned around, holding the front of her ornate wedding gown against her chest. Seeming to gather her courage, she drew a deep breath before allowing the dress to slide to her feet in a pool of silver fabric.

 

Sigrid’s sheer undergarments left little to the imagination. Fíli was acutely aware of the tightening of his trousers.

 

“ _Mahal_ ,” Fíli muttered. “You are incredible.”

 

She smiled shyly before positioning herself between his legs, her hands resting on his shoulders. Fíli placed his hands on her waist and began to softly caress her through the thin fabric of her dress with his thumbs. He pulled his wife closer and gently kissed her stomach. He felt Sigrid lean into him and sigh. His hands drifted down to her hips and he slowly pulled the hem of her skirts before giving her a small tug forward of reassurance. Following his lead, Sigrid climbed into Fíli’s lap, her legs straddling his hips. She dipped her head slightly to kiss him again and groaned into her mouth as she shifted against his groin.

 

Encouraged, she began to move against him, setting his world on fire. Soon, she had both of them panting in desire. He felt Sigrid shift to the side until she was sliding off his lap and laying back onto the bed. She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

 

“I want to make love to my husband,” she mumbled against his fingers.

 

Fíli swallowed thickly and pushed himself off the bed, unlacing his breeches. She was watching him from her position on their marriage bed and Fíli felt his face suddenly become warm. He wasn’t sure what Sigrid might be expecting, but he hoped that he wouldn’t disappoint her. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his trousers over his hips and stepped out of them, not raising his eyes to meet hers until he had rejoined her on the bed.

 

He felt her fingers running against the braid at his temple and chanced a glance up. Sigrid smiled at him, tugging lightly at his hair. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

 

Fíli leaned forward, his bare torso pressed against her side, and did as he was bid. Sigrid slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She shifted beneath him, raising her right leg to drape over his hip. The shift cause him to press against her, unobscured by fabric. She gasped at the contact, her arms tightening around his neck.

 

He rested his head against her cheek. “Sigrid –“ he began.

 

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just… give me a minute.”

 

Fíli stayed perfectly still above her, testing every ounce of his will power as she rubbed herself against him with each movement. He kept his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her heavenly scent. He kissed her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips.

 

Sigrid moved until her legs were on either side of Fíli’s hips. He was careful not to allow his full body weight to press down against her. When she rubbed herself against his length, he couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of her, wet for him.

 

Sigrid’s hands lifted his face from her neck and she offered him a small, reassuring smile. She kissed him and he eagerly returned her affections, wanting to do nothing else with his life, but make her smile.

 

Finally, she paused, panting softly against his lips. “I’m ready now,” she told him, “just… can we go slowly?”

 

“Of course,” he replied gently, tenderly running his hand along her side.

 

“Ok,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his hips. The skirt of her sheer undergarment pooled around her waist.

 

Fíli’s fingers drifted down to her naked hips, running his hands over the soft skin of her bare legs. Sigrid seemed to hum as he trailed his hand along the back of her thigh, her hips raising slightly. His hardness rubbed against her inner thigh. He sat back on his knees, taking in her beauty. She watched him under a halo of curly, golden hair, chewing on her bottom lip. He gazed down at her as he ran his hand from her ankle, along the soft hair of her calf, over the curve of her knee and up her thigh. She shivered when he reached the intersection of her hip and leg. He paused for a moment, his fingers hovering over the mound of golden curls.

 

His uncle had been stricken with gold sickness known to consume the Heirs of Durin… perhaps Fíli’s had just manifested in a different way. If so, Fíli was more than happy to let this sickness consume him.

 

He allowed his fingers to brush against the sensitive skin of her lower lips. Sigrid gasped at the contact, her eyes closing as she arched into his touch. Fíli stroked against her center as he kissed the soft flesh of her stomach until her legs began to tremble and her moans became breathless.

 

Fíli leaned forward, kissing his wife as he positioned himself between her legs. Her hands rested against his shoulders as she gazed up at him, her face flushed. He kissed her one last time before slowly easing into her. Sigrid’s grip on his shoulders tightened for a moment, her eyes closed.

 

He stilled his movement and touched her cheek. “Are you okay?”

 

She looked up at him and nodded, giving him a light kiss.

 

Fíli slowly rocked his hips into her, watching her for any reaction of pain or discomfort. They continued to gaze at each other as Fíli kept up a slow and steady rhythm. After several minutes, Sigrid’s hands slid down his chest, her fingers running between scar tissue and muscle. When she raised her hips to meet his rhythm, Fíli groaned in pleasure and rested his forehead against Sigrid’s. Sigrid slipped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him.

 

Fíli could feel her nipples harden as they rubbed against his chest through the thin material. Sigrid’s nails began to dig into his back as he slowly increased his pace. He kissed her and his left hand caressed her breast, relishing in the absolute freedom to be able to do so.

 

“Fíli,” Sigrid moaned breathlessly. “More, I – more, _please_.”

 

His fist gripped the bedding as he attempted to keep himself under control. He moved faster inside of her, the feeling building in the pit of his stomach as she tightened around him. Her moans and kisses and the movement of her hips in union with his was enough to finally push him over the edge. He choked back a cry of pleasure as he reached completion. They stayed wrapped up in each other for a long time, their legs tangled together and Sigrid’s arms around him. Fíli could feel Sigrid’s lips against his neck as he slowly drifted to sleep.

 

+++

Fíli woke the next morning to a part of soft lips kissing his. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and blinked slowly as he adjusted to the pale dawn light that flooded into the hall. The morning air rippling the silk canopy above them was cold, but his wife was warm at his side. Sigrid smiled down at him, a blanket pull around her.

“Good morning, my king,” she whispered, placing another kiss on his bare shoulder.

Fíli stretched, arching his back and extending his arms. He hooked his left arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer to him. “Good morning, my queen,” he replied affectionately, rubbing his nose against the crook of her neck.

Sigrid laughed softly, "Not queen yet, dear husband - at least, not for a few more hours."

 

He smirked against her skin. “I’m sure we can find something to occupy our time until then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me - I really apologize about the delay in the posting of this chapters. My boss quit and my co-worker and I have been trying to pick up the pieces and keep it together, which also means that when I get home from work, I've been exhausted and not writing as much as I should have. I wanted to give you a long chapter, and I hope that you enjoyed. Please forgive me for any grammatical or spelling errors, I will try to go back and make corrections once I have finished. 
> 
> I want to give credit to the DwarrowScholar for all the insight scoop on Dwarven Marriage ceremonies. Of course, credit must go to the professor and I also want to give credit to Kallielef for providing me with the inspiration on Dís’ attire during their wedding ceremony. 
> 
> Love to you all!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Under the Mountain crowns his Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N at the end of chapter.

\--Sigrid--

She awoke before him. The last morning stars were slowly being chased from the sky by the coming sunrise. The predawn air was cold enough that Sigrid pulled the covers higher over her bare shoulders, pressing herself into Fíli’s warmth. He was so warm. Maybe it was common for dwarves to run this hot. At this point, all she cared about was getting as close to him as possible. Their legs were already tangled together, her slender legs wrapped around his firm, thick thighs. He shifted slightly, his thigh pressing against her core.

She gasped at the contact, still feeling slightly sore from the previous night’s love making. The intimate contact sent a shiver through her entire body. She bit her lip, glancing at her husband’s sleeping form. She had never seen him look so peaceful, the cares of the Mountain erased from his features. His braids kept most of his hair out of his face. She smoothed some loose strands away from his eyes, her fingers tracking his cheekbone lightly. He shifted in his sleep again, turning his face into her hand as his leg pressed firmly against her center.

This time, her hips rocked against him in response. She moaned, blushing at the sound, but not caring at the same time. It felt too good to care… and then she felt him harden against her hip.

The contact began to ignite a fire within her that was quickly beginning to consume her. She chewed on her lip again, not sure what was proper in this situation. They were married now… so… if she wanted to kiss him awake, maybe it was okay.

Sigrid raised herself up on an elbow and placed a soft kiss on Fíli’s cheek. She gazed down at him for a moment, taking in his features in the building light of morning. She brushed a tentative finger across his lips and then dipped her head, pressing her lips against his.

Fíli finally woke, pressing his chest against hers as he stretched. He settled back into the soft feather mattress, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he searched for her face. He grinned sleepily up at her and Sigrid couldn’t help smiling at the affection that filled his eyes. She pulled the blanket more firmly around her shoulders, feeling exposed.

“Good morning, my king,” she said softly. She shyly kissed the scar on his shoulder.

Fíli stretched again, the blankets falling away from his chest. His muscles rippled under a patchwork of battle scars and soft blonde hair of his chest. He slipped his left arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him, nuzzling his face against her neck. The course hair from his beard tickled her flushed skin.

“Good morning, my queen,” he murmured against her skin. He rubbed his nose along the soft flesh of her neck, pressing kisses against her quickening pulse point.

Sigrid was breathless at his touch. Finally forming a coherent thought, she laughed softly. "Not queen yet, dear husband,” she fought to keep from moaning at his lips brushed her collarbone. “- at least, not for a few more hours." A shameful moan escaped her as his teeth lightly bit into her skin.

 

She felt him grin before kissing the top of her breast. “I’m sure we can find something to occupy our time until then.”

 

She gasped in surprise as his strong arms pulled her beneath him. He hovered above her, not quite on top of her yet. “Is this okay?” he asked, hesitantly placing his knee between her legs.

 

“Yes,” she answered quickly, taking his face between her hands. “Yes,” she repeated, pulling him down until his lips brushed against her. “Yes,” she murmured once more, his breath washing over her before he captured her bottom lip, sucking on it lightly.

 

He gently parts her legs, settling between them. Sigrid wrapped her arms around Fíli’s neck, holding him close as he kissed her. He slowly pulled away from her mouth, trailing kisses down her chin and her neck to her bare breasts. His hands gently caressed her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples. Her head fell back against the feather pillow as he traveled lower down her body. His rough hands gripped her hips, holding her firmly in place as he teased her with his tongue.

 

When he brushed against her lower lips, she cried out. His mother had mentioned this type of love making during their long discussion about intimacy last year. She hadn’t really known how she felt about it when Dís had been explaining it to her, but now that Fíli was down between her thighs, she was completely coming undone.

 

Sigrid’s hands tangled into Fíli’s hair as he continued his ministrations. The fire in her core was beginning to completely consume her, sending a great tingling warmth through her toes and fingers. She began to shift, the sensation almost becoming too much. His hands gripped her hips tighter as he held her in place. Finally, she peaked and cried out, a wondrous sensation cascading over her. Fíli softly kissed her inner thigh before sitting up and smiling down at her.

 

She stared up at him, her hand resting on her chest as she fought to catch her breath. Her husband leaned down and brushed her check with his fingertips. “My love,” he murmured.

 

A loud knock on the door broke the moment. Fíli sighed and stole a quick kiss before rising to answer the door. He retrieved a robe from the large wardrobe and pulled it on as he crossed the large room. Sigrid wrapped the covers around her and peaked out of the sheer canopy curtains. Two young dwarves stood at the door, holding large silver platters.

 

Fíli stepped arise to allow them inside. Sigrid pulled the blankets up to her chin, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as the two dwarflings cast curious glances toward the bed. Her husband strategically obstructed their view, leaning against the bedpost as they transferred the food from the platters to the large table. He thanked them once they were finished and saw them out the door.

 

Sigrid sat up and attempted to smooth down her hair. Fíli retrieved another robe from the wardrobe and brought it to her. She accepted it gratefully and slipped her arms into the soft sleeves. The fabric was wonderfully soft and warm against her cool skin.

 

They broke their fast together in bed, Sigrid watching with growing amusement as Fíli consumed food at a ravenous rate. She nibbled on a dried plum, worried that her nerves would get the better of her. She would have to stand up together in front of the entire Kingdom of Erebor and declare her devotion and service to its people and their king. Her king.

Fíli was still eating when Dís arrived to fetch Sigrid away to get dressed for the coronation. When she rose to leave, Fíli pulled her back down onto the bed, his strong arms encircling her. He held her close for a moment before reluctantly watching as his mother whisked her away.

 

As they descended into the Mountain, Sigrid noticed that many of its inhabitants were already awake, bustling about to prepare for the day. Many stopped to knuckle their foreheads or bow to the princess and their future queen.

 

Sigrid caught a glimpse of Ori as she was gently pushed into Dís’ dressing rooms, making his way up the corridor to assist Fíli.

 

Dís lead her into the room, where Gloin’s wife, Kona, was sitting next to the fire with three other dames. Sigrid clasped her hands nervously in front of her as her mother-in-law introduced her. The other dwarrow dames were Ima, Kata, and Dara, although Sigrid wasn’t sure which names belonged to which dames because Dís was already motioning for Kona to help her in the other room. “They will help you prepare for the day,” Dís called over her shoulder. Two of older dwarrow women approached Sigrid and began to remove her clothes. She began to protest, trying to seek out Dís, who had disappeared. Boiling water was poured into a large brass tub in the center of the room. Sigrid blushed fiercely in embarrassment, wrapping her arms around her exposed chest and attempted to ask them to stop in her broken Khuzdul. A white-haired dame patted her arm gently, finally seeming to understand her distress and gestured toward the tub.

 

Sigrid glanced nervously at the steaming water before casting a distrustful look toward the trio of dwarrow dames. She cautiously dipped a toe into the water, wincing at the scalding temperature. After a moment, she was able to ease into the water and sat in the almost too small basin, her knees drawn up to her chest.

 

The white-haired dame approached, holding up a brush. “To clean,” she said, her common tongue just as broken as Sigrid’s Khuzdul. Sigrid nodded and held out her hand to accept the brush.

 

The dwarrow dame shook her snowy head, pointing at herself and then back at Sigrid. “To clean,” she said again.

 

Sigrid frowned, tears unexpectedly springing to her eyes. She knew that the language barrier might be an issue, but most of the dwarves she had conversed with spoke the common tongue. She didn’t understand this custom – didn’t like it. She wished she had just stayed in bed with Fíli. She finally sighed, angrily brushing the tears from her eyes before nodding to the dame.

 

The three dwarrow dames descended upon her again, but this time, in a much gentler manner. Two of them worked the brushes over her skin while the third washed her hair. Once her skin had been scrubbed pink, she was pulled from the tub and wrapped in a towel.

 

Two of the ladies worked metal combs through her hair until it was smooth and shone. Dís finally returned with Kona, ladened with rich fabrics and bottles of oil and perfume.

 

The eldest dame, whose name she thought was Ima, began to braid her hair. Another dame relieved Dís of the crystal bottles and began to pour fragrant oils over Sigrid’s skin, massaging it into her arms and legs.

 

Once all of Sigrid’s hair had been braided and securely pinned in place, Dís and Kona pulled Sigrid aside and helped her dress. The fabric of the gown was a beautiful pale bluish-green. The waistcoat fit snuggled across her chest, with a high collar and long, tailored sleeves. It was made from a similar fabric as the dress, but had silver threads embroidering the waist and hemline. Metalwork on the bodice almost resembled a breastplate. The hemline was shorter than most of the gowns that Sigrid owned, in true dwarvish fashion, and she was given leggings and gray leather boots to complete her outfit. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. Safe for her height and lack of beard, she had been transformed into a dwarvish dame. Sigrid took comfort in the fact that the girl staring back at her in the mirror looked much more confident than she felt. She was ready. She could do this.

 

+++

 

The ceremony for Sigrid's coronation was a blur. She remembered feeling nervous before walking into the Hall of Kings and was worried she might faint. She made it to the dais, despite the fact that hundreds of eyes were upon her. Many of the citizens of Dale had come to witness the crowning of the child of man who had wed the King Under the Mountain. She knew not everyone approved, but all of her nerves and worries disappeared as soon as Fíli slipped his fingers into hers.

 

She hardly heard the brief words that were spoken. She vowed to ‘ _stand by her king and help him rule the mighty kingdom of Erebor with a strong and fair hand, provide wise counsel, to serve its people justly and to protect them against all harms’_. She knelt before Fíli as she said the words before he placed a mithril crown upon her brow. As she rose to stand by his side, Fíli proclaimed her Queen Under the Mountain, and just like that, she was.

 

The night was full of boisterous drinking, dancing and laughter. Although the night air was cold, Sigrid did not feel a chill, as she was constantly being asked for her hand in a turn on the dance floor. She could feel Fíli watching her in amusement from his place at the table. She danced a lively jig with Bofur and a rivercountry dance with her brother. Dwalin helped her through the steps of a traditional dwarrow dance. By the end of the night, she was so tired, Sigrid through she might collapse. When the time care for her to return to Dale with her sister, Fíli held her close.

 

“Perhaps I won’t let you go,” he muttered, placing a kiss at her collarbone which sent a shiver down her spine. “You are already mine…”

 

“Yes,” she breathed softly, “I am yours and you are mine, but we agreed to this – we agreed to a ceremony under the Mountain and one by the Lake. We must honor that promise, Fíli…”

 

Her husband sighed and was silent for a long moment. “Then you must go.” Fíli took her face between his hands and kissed her lips softly. “Good night.”

 

She smiled before leaning down to kiss him more fiercely. “Good night, my husband, my king.”

 

“My love,” he murmured into her lips.

 

She could still feel his lips on hers as Tilda and her former governess, Miranda, escorted her back to Dale.

 

Sigrid was so tired that when they arrived, she hardly had time to discard the metal bodice and pull the pins from her hair before she laid down and curled up in her sister's bed, Tilda tucked into her side.

 

She awoke several restful hours later to the smell of coffee and bacon and her sister’s arms wrapped securely around her waist. She left Tilda asleep among the many wool blankets and firs in search of a wash basin. She washed her face with the icy water before helping herself to a mug of coffee. She breathed in deeply and took a small sip of the bitter liquid, feeling its warmth spread to her belly. Sigrid wandered to the balcony, which overlooked the courtyard below. From this height, she would not only see the Lonely Mountain, but the Lake of Esgaroth as well. As the sun began to rise over the eastern mountain range, she could see the snow on the snowy peak of Erebor sparkle. She pulled a cloak around her shoulders and leaned against the balcony railing, her mug warming her hands as she lost herself in memories…

 

Eventually, Tilda woke and called for her to come back inside. She ate a small breakfast of bacon and bread with thick, tart bearberry jam. Tilda chattered beside her, telling her about the kittens she had found in the garden shed, about Bane getting in trouble when Miranda discovered a pet squirrel living in his wardrobe and Bard laughing it off. Sigrid smiled and listened as her sister continued to inform her on the gossip and happenings in the City. She had missed her sister, her brother, her father, much more than she had realized. She had been spending so much time at the Mountain lately, busy preparing for her marriage and duties, that she had missed these conversations with her sister, pleasant quite evenings with her father and brother. Tilda near choked on a piece of bacon when Sigrid abruptly took her face between her hands and kissed her cheeks.

 

After they had broken their fast, Tilda helped Sigrid dress. She wore a traditional dark blue gown, similar to the one her mother would have worn to marry her father twenty years ago. The gown was decorated with red and silver embroidery, which Tilda had helped sew. Miranda plated her hair and wrapped the braid around the crown of her head in a simple manner, securing it with pins. As Tilda dressed, Sigrid pinned a red lace veil to her hair and pulled it down to frame her face.

She helped Tilda tie a thick red sash around her waist and adjusted her sister’s head covering, which was similar to her own.

 

When the time came, Sigrid and her sister met their father in the courtyard. Bard's expression was somber as he took her arm in his, but he pulled her close as they were walking the winding streets toward the Lake and kissed the crown of her head.

 

"I've missed you, girl," he said gently.

 

Sigrid smiled up at her father. "But I've only been away a few days."

 

Bard shook his head. "It doesn't mean that I don't miss you. A father will always miss their children when they are away."

 

Sigrid frowned and squeezed her father's arm. In truth, she had missed him too - and Tilda and Bane... Even though she was a short walk away from Dale, Erebor felt like a completely different world. As they descended the steep, twisting streets, Sigrid rested her head against her father's strong and steady shoulder. She suddenly felt scared of leaving her family, even though she was already wedded and bedded... this ceremony would make the marriage official for her people and that made it all more real to her.

 

Unexpected tears sprang to Sigrid's eyes and she left them fall. Tilda's hand slipped into hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

 

Their small group exited the city and made their way to a small, open building near the shore. Purple heather from the Mountain had been tied to the rafters, creating a sea of purple above their heads. Sigrid stared in wonder and squeezed her father’s hand. “Did you do this?” she whispered.

 

Bard shook his head. “No, it was your husband’s doing.”

 

She turned and saw Fíli waiting for her on the other side of the room. A small smile spread across his lips as he took in her joy until she was smiling back at him, her eyes filled with tears.

 

A holy man stood beside Fíli and beckoned them come forward. He was a kindly old man with white hair and weathered hands who smiled at them as Sigrid slipped her fingers into Fíli’s hand.

 

He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice strong and sure. "We have come together here in celebration of the joining together of Sigrid and Fíli. There are many things to say about marriage. Much wisdom concerning the joining together of two souls, has come our way through all paths of belief, and from many cultures. As we bless this union, we can hope to leave with them the knowledge of love and its strengths and the anticipation of the wisdom that comes with time. The law of life is love unto all beings. Without love, life is nothing, without love, death has no redemption. If we learn no more in life, let it be this. Marriage is as many things in life and have its cycles, its ups and its downs, its trials and its triumphs. With full understanding of this, Fíli and Sigird have come here today to be joined as one in marriage. Sigrid, is it true that you come of your own free will and accord?"

 "Yes," Sigrid said.

 The old holy man nodded and looked passed them to the small crowd gathered. "With whom do you come and whose blessings accompany you?"

 Bard stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Sigrid's shoulder. "She comes with me, her father, and is accompanied by all of her family's blessings."

The holy man motioned for Sigrid and Fíli to turn to face each other. "Please join hands with your betrothed and listen to that which I am about to say." Fíli grinned up at Sigrid, his expression of affection dazzling. She blushed despite herself. "Above you are the stars, below you are the stones, as time doth pass, remember... Like a stone, should your love be firm. Like a star, should your love be constant. Let the strength of your wills bind you together, let the power of love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Possess one another, yet be understanding. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly. Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the Light is with you always."

 

The old man cleared his throat again before raising his bushy eyebrows to peer at Fíli.

"Fíli, if it be your wish to wed this child of man, say so at this time."   

Fíli grinned and nodded. "It is my wish."

"Sigrid, if it be your wish to wed this child of the mountains, say so at this time."

"It is my wish."

 "So be it," the holy man croaked, pulling a thick cord from his pocket. "Repeat after me:

"I, Fíli, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Sigrid, to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire you and be desired by you, to possess you, and be possessed by you, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and the beyond." Fíli reached up and caressed her cheek, a haunting look in his eye. "I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people, and your ways as I respect myself." 

 

The old man began to wrap the cord around their clasped hands as he directed Sigrid to repeat him as well.

 

"I, Sigrid, by the life that courses within my blood, and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Fíli to my hand, my heart, and my spirit to be my chosen one. To desire and be desired by you, to possess and be possessed by you, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond. I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people, and your ways as I respect myself."

 

The holy man continued to warp the cord around their joined hand and finally, tied the ends together. "And so the binding is made. Fíli and Sigrid, as your hands are bound together now, so your lives and spirits are joined in a union of love and trust." The old man took their tied hands between his weathered fingers, his touch surprisingly warm. "Above you are the stars and below you is the earth. Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow." He gave their hands a squeeze and then released them, turning his head toward the sky.

 

"May your love so endure that its flame remains a guiding light unto you."

 

Later, as the celebrations continued late into the night, Sigrid sat with her head resting against her husband's strong shoulder, watching as dozens of couples turned in circles under a starry sky. She breathed out a contented sighed. This reminded her of the spring festival last year, when Fíli had come down to Dale with a company of dwarfs. They had sat near this same place and watched the peoples of Dale as they stepped to an old Rhovanioncountry dance. Sigrid smiled as she watched Tilda dance in circles around Bofur as he danced a jig. Ori had declined dancing all together, opting instead to watch the others from a safe distance.  Fíli was deep in conversation with Nori, their heads bent together as they smoked their ornate pipes and puffed sweet smelling tobacco smoke.

As Sigrid surveyed the crowd, she suddenly gave pause at a glint of red. She lost it for a moment until it reappeared, farther away and in the shadows. Sigrid stared at the elegant figure in disbelief. Tauriel stared back at her and rose her hand in greeting, the smile on her lips never quite matching the sorrow in her eyes.

 

Sigrid’s mouth opened, she meant to call out to her, say something… but the words simply won’t come. Tauriel’s eyes drifted to her left and rested on her husband, in so many ways different than Kíli, but in many ways all too similar. Fíli thew his head back at that moment, laughing at a joke Nori had just told her. Sigrid knew the way his eyes would crinkle, how his chest would shake with joyful laughter.

 

She watched as Tauriel took another step back, away from the crowd and music and laughter… she cast a final glance toward Sigrid, her eyes echoing the pain of lost love, asking forgiveness for not being stronger…

 

Sigrid smiling sadly at Tauriel and nodded to her, trying to convey without words that it was okay, she understood in some small way.

 

The elf sighed and then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, turned and disappeared from sight.

 

Sigrid stared after Tauriel for a long while, her heart aching in her chest.

 

Her reverie was finally broken when her husband rose from his seat and offered his hand. Sigrid looked up into Fíli’s joyful face and knew that she was so lucky to be loved by him… that she had almost missed this opportunity. She slid her fingers into his rough hand and laughed as he spun her around, gripping his broad shoulders to keep from tripping over her feet. Lively music sang through the large square as the citizens of Dale and Erebor mingled together in fellowship. She skipped in beat with the rhythm of the song, feeling a happiness take root in her bones. Fíli spun her around and then pulled her down to him. 

_And Fíli took her in his arms and kissed her under the starry sky and he cared not that they stood in the middle of the square in the sight of many._

 

_~May your love so endure that its flame remains a guiding light unto you~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took me this long to post this next chapter. My professional life got a bit crazy when my boss quit at the end of September and I spent the next six months finishing my graduate degree too. Not so much fun. BUT I'm back now and finally finished - I thought it was be fun to post one chapter from Sigrid's point of view, to offer a different perspective. The words from the Laketown wedding ceremony were inspired from Celtic ceremonies; I did not come up with those beautiful words on my own. Tolkien was also inspiration (of course), particularly a sentence which originally referenced Faramir kissing Eowyn on the high city walls. So credit where credit is due :) 
> 
> I plan to write one more chapter, as an epilogue. I promise to have it post more quickly. Thank you so everyone that has ever read this story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Fili x Sigrid deserve more love! I'll also start tackling the next chapter of my Figrid AU, so look out for more on that story too!


	20. Chapter 20 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving Heir to Erebor - Final Chapter/Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything; it all belongs to the great JRR Tolkien. Some dialogue referred from The Fellowship of the Ring. 
> 
> Warning: Battle Scenes/Graphic Violence, References to Major Character Death(s).

The bright crimson dawn rising over the eastern mountains was quickly chasing away the last, soft gray of night. Fíli gazed down on the field below from his vantage point upon the parapet. The wind was bitingly cold, cutting straight through his leather and steel, causing the old wound in his chest to ache. His shoulder was beginning to ache now as well and he roughly rubbed at the small scar an arrow had made many years ago.

 

"Feeling your age, brother?"

 

He turned to find his younger brother lounging against the far stone wall, smirking up at him.

 

“ _Idlig, Nadadith_ ,” He said, grinning back. "It's just the cold that bothers it, is all."

 

Kíli chuckled, young and cheerful as ever. "That's what Uncle used to say about his arm."

 

Fíli felt a sad smile tug at his lips. "Yes, well, I am nearer to Thorin's age now..." He trailed off, frowning down at the wide field that ran between the Mountain and the City of Dale.

 

A heavy silence rested between the two brothers, weighted and knowing.

 

Fíli turned to face his brother. "What I wouldn't give to have you old and aching by my side."

 

"None of that, now," Kíli scolded. "The others are counting on you..."

 

+++

 

Few had noticed the darkening of the southern skies, but when orc raids began to increase and goblins were seen in the depths of the mountain, Fíli's suspicions began to rise. He sent a raven to Dain to see what the old dwarf made of these happenings. Dain confirmed his worst fears. Something dark, evil was brewing, just below the boarders of Rhovanian.

 

A year ago, a messenger had arrived in the middle of the night and demanded audience with Fíli. Feeling great unease, Fíli denied the rider access the Erebor, but instead addressed him from the top of the Great Gate. The messenger was cloaked in robes of black and gray, caked with mud and dirt and grime and regarded the King Under the Mountain with a sharp eye from behind his deep hood. The creature revealed that he had been sent by his master from Mordor and was simply offering friendship.

 

Fíli had frowned upon that declaration, distrust settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. The messenger continued to make grand gestures of friendship, assuring Fíli that his Master, Lord Sauron the Great, would present great rings of power to him and his good cousin Dain in the Iron Hills and the other great dwarf lords. Fíli listened to him in silence, regarding the stranger carefully. Rings of power… like the seven great rings of power given to the dwarf lords so many years before… but Fíli knew that had not ended well for any of the dwarrow, for sooner or later, they had been captured or killed or consumed by greedy and dragon-fire. Fíli’s revere was broken as Sauron’s messenger suddenly began to speak concerning hobbits. Fíli’s brow furrowed as he stared coldly down at the creature, his mind filled with thoughts of Bilbo Baggins from the Shire. But no words betrayed his trust. When Fíli did not divulge any information regarding the halflings, the messenger shifted his focus and stated his true reason for entreating Erebor. His master had sent him to track down a single ring of power.

 

"It is a rather unremarkable ring, truly," the messenger had said, his eyes shifting sharply beneath the shadow of his large, dark cloak. "Least of all the rings of power, but a trinket that my Lord Sauron fancies."

 

Fíli knew of no such ring and told the messenger so.

 

"Of course not," the messenger sneered before remembering himself and spinning his words in sweetly. "But perhaps, gracious King Under the Mountain, you will aid the Lord of Mordor with his quest. He is willing to offer you great power in exchange for your assistance. My Lord Sauron has vowed that he will offer you the 3 lost dwarven rings of power in exchange for this one, small ring of power."

 

His lips curled into a sickening grin. "My master makes a most generous offer. I would advise that you take it, dwarf. Otherwise, if you refuse the Lord Sauron, things will not seem so well."

 

Fíli studied the creature carefully. Nori, who had accompanied Fíli to the gate, bent his head to speak into his ear. “I don’t trust him, _Melhekh_ , but tell him you might consider his offer so that we might buy some time to seek out Gandalf or perhaps the Lord Elrond.”

 

Fíli nodded - he did not take threats to his kingdom or its people lightly, but trusted Nori’s guidance. The creature followed Fíli's movements, his head jerking and twisting in an unnatural manner. Its stature was smaller than a man or elf, perhaps the height of an orc or even dwarf, but was so thin and disfigured that it was hard to say.

 

Fíli slowly inclined his head. "You have given me much to think upon. I would ask that you give me time to consider."

 

Reluctantly Sauron’s servant agreed. When the messenger had departed Erebor, escorted from the Lake-country’s boarders by a band of dwarven guards, Fíli immediately called Gloin, Dori and Nori into his Counsel Chambers. After much discussion, it was decided the Gloin and Anar, an Iron Hills Elder, would travel to Rivendell to seek the counsel of Master Elrond and the elves. They had treated their party kindly when they had passed through the hidden Elvish valley and Fíli was sure Lord Elrond would know what to do about the growing darkness.

 

Gloin and Anar left the following morning, accompanied by his son, Gimli.

 

Following Gloin's departure from Erebor, Fíli sent a raven to _Khazad-dûm_ , inquiring about troubling news he had been hearing rumor of about Isengard. Dwalin was ruling as Lord of _Khazad-dûm_ , having taken a band of dwarves to reclaim the lost kingdom after Dís had died some thirty years ago. Ori and an elderly Óin had accompanied Dwalin and his fierce band of warriors and builders. Fíli had not heard from them in over a year, but it was typical of Dwalin to let letters go unanswered until Ori finally got his hands on them and sent back a hurried reply.

 

Still, a great uneasiness weighed on Fíli's shoulders. The world was being pulled under a terrible darkness and he did not know what to do to prevent it.

 

Bane’s son, Brand, now ruled Dale and he too shared Fíli's unease. They spent many late nights at Erebor's large Counsel Table, pouring over ancient text and maps. Fíli sorely missed Ori and particularly old Balin during those nights, wished for their combined wisdom and guidance. Mostly he missed his wife, who had passed away over a decade before. During those nights of loneliness, he sought comfort in his children, Thror, Halin, and Shira. Thror, Fíli’s eldest son and heir, stood a head above most other dwarves and was strong of mind and body. Halin was training under Nori has a mason and Dori was teaching him the fine art of jewel-smithing. Shira was the youngest and only daughter; she was the image of her mother, save for the soft blonde hair that lined her chin. She had a love for the Lake as her mother had and sometimes Fíli would caught her starting into the waters depths as Sigrid used to do, many years ago and it would cause his heart to swell and ache with love and loss.

 

When the orc raids became too numerous in the Iron Hills, many of its residence came to Erebor seeking refuge. Both the Mountain and Dale began to buzz with uneasy anticipation. Brand gave a call to arms, asking every willing and able bodied man to join in the city guard. Young men and women of Dale trained in the art of archery and the long spear and watchtowers were erected along various high points and attended at all hours of the day.

 

It wasn’t until Dain finally abandoned the Iron Hills in favor of the protection of the Mountain that Fíli truly felt that hope was fading. He too gave a call to arms. Nori oversaw the training of Erebor's army, strengthened by the Iron Hill dwarves.

 

And yet, with all that planning and strategy, hope seemed dim. Despite all of their attempts, Orc forces were amassing on the Eastern front and Fíli knew it would come to battle. A long, hard-fought, bloody battle.

 

+++

 

The arrows that pierced his thigh and shoulder were excruciating. Poison burned in his blood, slowing his movements. Fíli roared in anger and pushed through the pain, forcing his weary body to surge forward. A faint pain in his lower back is all that alerted him to the arrow that had lodged itself just to the left of his spine.

 

With a twist of his arm, he plunged his right sword into the belly of the orc beside him before wrenching the blade upward, disemboweling the creature from sternum to shoulder. He dodged a blow and lunged back left, sinking his left sword into a goblin's boil-covered neck. The goblin's angry howl quickly turned to a sickening gurgle as blood began to pour from its neck wound.

 

Fíli's chest ached and his breath escaped his lips in sharp, pained gasps. He saw Nori several yards away from him, deftly felling orcs with his staff. Dain's boar had fallen at the beginning of the battle and he could give make out his cousin swinging his battle axe wildly from side to side, making space in the tight fighting area.

 

Brand used his sword effectively in such a small fighting space, setting upon the foul creatures with quick jabs to vital organs.

 

An arrow whipped past Fíli's head, the hair of his braid fraying as the sharp arrowhead grazed it.

 

Turning to look behind him, Fíli barely had time to lift his swords to catch a large, curved blade in its deadly downward stroke. The orc growled above him as it pushed him away and swung again, causing Fíli to fall slightly off-balance. Fíli sunk to his knee to stop himself from falling as he again raised his swords above his head to stop the orc's vicious steel.

 

When the large spear caught him in the chest, he was surprised that it did not hurt more. He felt a tightening in his chest more than pain, as the steel and wood pressed against his ribs and lungs. The poison flowing through his veins was working quickly, numbing his sense, slowing his movements.

 

He faintly registered voices yelling behind him, Bifur's form jumping in front of his to put his pig spear to use as Fíli felt Bofur cradle his body in his arms. His swords weren't in his hands any more... he must have dropped them... how foolish of him, Uncle would be upset. Thorin always emphasized the importance of maintaining hold of your weapon in battle... He had to find his daggers...

 

"Fíli!" Bofur snapped, slapping his face.

 

Fíli blinked up at him slowly. His friend's face was covered in dirt and the dark smear of blood. Fíli raised his hand and brushed Bofur's cheek, attempting to remove the offensive stain.

 

Bofur caught his hand between armored fingers. Fíli could see tears beginning to run down his face, cutting a path across the grime his skin.

 

Fíli opened his chapped lips to comfort his friend, but he found that it was hard to get words out passed the taste of copper on his tongue. Dori dropped to the ground beside him and Fíli felt pressure on his chest. He wanted to tell Dori to stop, that it was making it harder for him to breathe...

 

Kíli took Fíli's other hand, smiling down at his brother. Fíli opened his mouth to speak, but instead coughed violently, the words heavy on his tongue as he was vaguely aware of blood running down his chin.

 

Fingers snapped in front of his face, causing him to turn his heavy head slowly toward Nori who was looking greatly unsettled.

 

"Fíli, stay with us," he pleaded, wiping the blood from his chin.

 

Fíli blinked up at Nori, his eyelids growing heavy. It would feel nice to close them for just a few moments...

 

The sounds of battle faded out, _drowned out into a soft hum, a distant waterfall, a bee buzzing..._

_When he did open his eyes again, he was laying on his back, staring up into a blue sky. Long grass bent to brush his cheek and the sun warmed his hair. Fíli slowly sat up, taking in the landscape which seemed so familiar and at the same time, wholly unknown. Tall, snow-capped mountains rose before him, sharp and dark against the soft blue of the sunny skies. Rolling hills stretched behind him as far as he could see. Birds chipped and sang, hidden in knee-high grasses of green and yellow and brown._

_And his brother sat beside him, lazily chewing on a blade of grass. Kíli smiled down at him, his expression one of sweet sadness._

_Fíli reached out and touched Kíli's face. His skin was warm and he felt his brother's cheeks rise and eyes crinkle as the younger grinned. Kíli clasped Fíli's hand in his own, squeezing it gently._

_Fíli's eyes filled with tears. "Kíli -" he began, but found he couldn't continue. Instead, he dropped his forehead to his brother's and embraced him._

_He did not know how long they remained holding onto the other, but when they finally drew apart, Fíli was smiling warmly._

_"Welcome, brother," he said. "I've been waiting for you a long while."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my friends... I hope you're enjoyed this little fic... I know I have, even though it took me forever to finish the last two chapters. I truly appreciate all of your support and your shared love for this fandom and Figrid! love to you all!!


End file.
